He wakes

i.

He wakes to the sight
of a vast plain of water, a curved blue horizon.
He wakes to a presence
sustaining itself, the lives
within its salt-filled embrace.
He wakes to the resilience
of the unsleeping sea.

ii.

He wakes to the silent river of his blood,
to a directive from his bladder.
He wakes to the sound of the cat
devouring her breakfast in the kitchen.
He wakes, not to the alarm on his phone,
but to time’s incessant ticking.

iii.

He wakes to the day’s tasks.
He wakes to the heart’s endless lessons,
to traps and routines.
He wakes and knows that he is stuck,
that desire and clarity again lie
behind a veil.
He wakes, must begin
at the beginning – the only port
from which he can set sail.

 - Eduard Burle