Aches of Morning Knowing

Morning aches the day from the hollows

of the bed, yearning, and you lay, lingering

the crept upon dreams of stillness

that stood like that young German translator,

fresh from college that you never knew, but wished

you had when she came unbidden, like Jesus

through the locked door—you swore you knew

them both despite the plain impossibilities

of common knowing. Gnosis is the word

that toys along the trails of your brain,

casting sparks among the synapse

like the Fourth of July child waving reckless

sparklers in both hands, a dervish

of delight in the spinning chaos, filling

the hollow spaces with quiet explosions,

soothing the aches of lingering yearning,

translating Jesus into possible prayer.