Sunday Morning in Watts

Dew covers the 

the glass, my eyes 

move into a slow

focus.

The darkness has

grown tired. It be

gins to reach for 

the sheets.

My hand finds 

the keys on the 

seat. Slide & a

twist, the engine

finds life in the 

silence of a 

neighborhood

sleeping.

The light begins

to flicker from the

sleepy-eyed sun,

readying itself

for the change

in its shift.

Mother Night,

Father Sun,

we raced each 

other to different

destinations.