Next time I will remember

This hour of the day

when the world begins to hum

and the air is soft,

and silky,

and real,

this hour is tied to all

the previous days

of this hour in one

unending moment.

Now,

I am the child, innocent.

Now,

the young man dreaming.

Now,

the husband off to work.

Now,

the old man making coffee.

And with this hour anything

is possible.

It is the moment of bravery.

It is as if you awaken

and catch a glimpse of the

secret world,

but you are still

sleepy

and your senses drunk

with smells

and sounds

and light.

The mystery is revealed

but you are gladly caught

somewhere

between here and

there

and somehow you miss it.

Next time

you tell yourself,

next time

I will remember.