This

the morning of my resurrection

wakens to a clear sky, blue and thin as spring,
over a world strangely unfamiliar to my reckoning —
bearded cyclists speed along the busy street,
factories once gritty with grime become coveted homes —
where, to my astonishment, I am home.
I’ve woken here before,
never quite realizing this me was new,
that I belonged here, or that I will be becoming more myself
in this place where you, Love, breathe into me,
where now surprised, I am
alive.