Rainy Season -- Day 2

You can’t trust a gray morning.
You can’t put your trust in anything
As big as the morning,
As big as the sun moving
From one sky to the other,
As big as the song of everything-that-is
Rising into a higher key,
If it stumbles and falters
And can’t make up its mind.

When I open my eyes I want to know
That I wasn’t the first to do so today.
I want to see that the angels
Have already been hard at it,
Painting the bougainvillea and hibiscus.
I want to forget that
Bird nest nuh got no roof
And think them hollery one in the ficus
Mussy had brukdown all night
And still cyan’t done.

My morning muss mek I want
Missing things.
No, no shower today.
Too cold.  Too grey.
And the sound of falling water?
Much too common today.
No cleaning today.  Might need that dirt
To reach the street side
The way this water rising.
No talking today.  No singing.
Too much of that babbling
In the drain outside.
And too much rhythm on the rooftop,
Accompaniment for too much frog song.
Too much laughing.  Too much drinking.
Too much sighing, gulping, thirsty earth.