Morning, Again

The veil of sleep,
tissue-thin and weightless,
rises like fog
lifted by the morning sun.
So fragile, it tears
when I try to catch an edge
and pull it back
down around me.
Soft as a whisper,
words from an old song
only dreams remember,
fading as I wake.

Not much will be recovered.
The raptor’s shadow passes
and I wonder what small lives
feel its chill.