Turmoil
Phillip Whitman Elvrum
2. TURMOIL
In the morning it feels like coming into a clearing
and the disorientation lingers only for a breath.
I hold the thought,
a coal glowing
on the wet ground,
not long enough
to stay
in
this vision of crawling
out between the cracks
in understanding
that permeate the day,
and tomorrow.
So I make coffee while
looking out the window
and notice that I can't
remember when
or if
I woke up.
All the thoughts rushing in
after the thaw.
