Faint the blow of wind on leaves
Warm the tang my old bed cover
Darkness quits like tip-toeing thieves
A day begins like any other.
Comes the world to me slowly;
Ears, then nose, eyes then touch:
Fumbling for a hint of holy
But finding forth so little much.
Lord, make this wake, this very morning,
Make this wake the Final One…
Turn today into a borning:
Let me sense the world won.
-- Tim Koshnick
