Before we the living wake into the day,
others have pushed aside the covers
and rolled up their sleeves. 
They've lit the fires, sifted the flour, 
rolled out the dough. The air's
a kind of yeast; or it's filled with spores
we breathe in without even needing to believe
they're there. In other words, 
how easily we take for granted we won't fall 
endlessly into night's dark throat. 
The birds start singing before first light. 
That is, we call it singing—what they do
while breaking apart those bits
they'll feed to their young. 


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