Sunrise

Michael Collins

Hazes of tiny bugs       nebula around            me.  Alone by the water

so early.  Still              as I have seen it. Small        birds skittering around

the marsh land only               on the small islands                abandoned

by low tide                  for fear of                   disturbing this picture

perfect mirror. Not even        the slightest breeze.                There are two

suns.  One still            ascending, beginning          to prickle my skin

with sweat. The other            the harbor has trapped           on its surface,

an image burning        without heat. I’m still          walking through dreams

seeming to mean         nothing. Can’t reason          these worlds back

together.

Michael Collins’ poems have appeared numerous publications, including Grist, Kenning Journal, Pank, SOFTBLOW and Smartish Pace. His first chapbook, How to Sing when People Cut off your Head and Leave it Floating in the Water, won the Exact Change Press Chapbook Contest in 2014. A full-length collection, Psalmanadala, is forthcoming.