The Postman Delivers Morning Poem by elysabeth faslund

Fingers of Dawn are
Covered by Night's sleeves...
Windows open wide,
An arm reaches in...

With cool winds boxed,
And colors wrapped, in a
Good Morning package
Of sky proportions...

Postage Due....I pay with
The Moon. Point the Postman
To the stars...'I don't have
Change for those, ' takes

Morning back and trundles
Off in his blinking firefly wagon.
Night returns, free of charge,
Croons sleep on my lids...

Morning disappears around
The bend, singing, laughing.
I am left with Darkness again.
Stodgy, sticky, Darkness.

Coffee pot begins to 'beep',
Call to battle sounding...
Army of two, me and the brew,
But Morning's been taken

Hours away. Do I pursue this
Morning in Night? With nothing
Of armor but a coffee cup?
Caffeine will not retreat, turn

Traitor...will it have the Magic
Of spelling Morning's Postman
To return? Unknown. The Moon
Knows, and stars. Only silence.

Left with alliances of that
Bridge, wicked in itself. All
I need do, is start the car...
Morning's Postman will

Follow me.

Good Morning! Good Morning!
Ya'llses!