POETRY: Morning Cartography

The sun
waits for me
to rise this morning.
Parting the branches
of the pine tree
it creeps forward
as I cradle my mug,
my somnolent gaze
considering
nothing at all.

Underneath me
the Earth tics one
cosmic degree.
Golden light
fills my eyes,
my mind—
an invitation
turning me toward
where I need to be.

I loosen, let go,
and everything opens.

The floorboards glow
in the early morning light
with a map of what is
to come.

Somehow, I know
It will be waiting quietly,
deliberately,
for my arrival.
Tomorrow, the next day,
ten years from now—
Time is irrelevant.

The directions are clear,
the inscription ingrained.
The only way forward
Is through.