Wake up early.
Write a poem.
Let it have angst, but also,
give the poem hope,
like a sticky drop
of maple syrup.
Drink it
like an elixir.
Enjoy it
for a moment.
Let it linger
like the cinnamon scent
of cider warming
on the wood stove.
Think about
tomorrow’s poem
while you walk
along the road
with the dog.
Greet the birds,
newly returned.
Listen to them.
Gather all this
in your heart
like a round, white stone
tucked into your pocket
or a raven’s feather
in your buttonhole.
Treasure it.
And then,
tomorrow morning,
begin again.
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