Waking

  Sunlight crawls over the world,
  thick slabs pushing past skin and sleep,
  affecting a density that has nothing to do 
  with the packaging of molecules,
  fracturing earth and air, and me

  until we are whole, unmade into what we share:
  the Primal, 
  the sound of two thousand blackbirds in a tree
  and dew in air and me:  a shell breathing
  and pulsing and breaking down lipids,
  those actions which create the artificial separation
  that I am not ground and air is not I
  when in fact we are collective, momentarily
  sparked sentient by morning light.