Give me fresh orange juice, frothy, whipped in a blue cup, though I have never like orange juice before this morning. Give me this morning. And sunlight from the high square window. And the green ceramic frog who sits in the window. And spam with a subject line of "good one." And cooler mornings, mornings in which I wrap my boned shoulders in a thin blue sweater, the one he said made me look like Carrie, and lock my door and step into the street. And a break in the line of trucks on the street. And rain. And the market full of earth-faced vegetables, and friends. And music. Help me hear it, still.
Help me rise early. Help me stay late.
Help me find it. See me through to the ending.
If this is not the way, then show me the way.
