After a restless night

One of those mornings
where dreams still crawl across the backs
of my eyelids and gravity sits too high
up my chest--
When sleep was fitful and clingy, and
morning came too early, taunting in her
bloody, slow approach, with her rays
of first light gleaming slowly over a horizon
I'd rather not have seen, and her colors
hidden by a snatch of last-minute sleep
that was in turn obscured by the buzzing phone.
One of those mornings.
I creep along in traffic with a million other
ants heading to our respective hills, and
feel the weight of too-short sleep in my arms,
at the back of my head, in my stomach floating
too close to the back of my throat in the shade
of the trees that line the highway. But then
the road bends, and the trees part. A slice
of early light slips through, and trickles up
my arm to wash my face of early shadows,
pouring warmth along my cheekbone.
One of those mornings, but now I think
I'm okay.