I want you every morning to feel full
to rise more red and fearless than the sun
and step towards the window where the cold
has etched his midnight message on the glass
asking you back into his arms. Do not
wipe away the frost-words with warm
hands.  So full you’re spilling light, just gather
your shining self across the room and
gasping to the sink, the mirror crackling
to behold you, energetic atoms climbing
cheekbones high and rich as mountains to
your hair, tameable as galaxies.  I want you
full, so pregnant with yourself the tap should
sparkle into gold, the water wash itself in your
clear eyes, your lips can only speak of nourished
truths too large to hide behind frustration. I
want you to see yourself again, full in the
glass, deserving of the ordinary day’s uncontainable
miracles, smiling at what treasures it can
offer till at last you come home to this waiting
fruit, this life, this body and this voice that
won’t cease song till hungers end. So full you
reach for yourself in gentle gratitude, you
swim in oceans with your hands, put out the
flames with glad hisses, birthing sweet embers
from which again tomorrow and tomorrow
you will make and fuel and fill the world.