Soft Morning

The other side of the glass
of morning is soft, still velvet.
Rivers of awareness, the paths
of sentient connection, all music.

Loved, remembered ones right here
playing, weaving, dancing,
smiling so to cry with joy to reach
and touch.

Yet, we're pulled back, so heavy
with time, pulled into the  needy day
of right-now work. Yet the morning
somewhere, still soft.