this morning, like any other
unfolds softly in first impressions

the coffee and its familiar aromas
as siphoning flowers in early April
or better yet, as petitions
to the gods, perhaps
which can move galaxies in our direction 

or a length of sunshine
as the shoelaces are tied 
and the shirts are buttoned
in a ritual that can only be described 
as cosmic

soon enough, I remind myself
these metaphors will be
unburdened of their mystery