The angel sings when the stars pop

180 degrees upward,

tilt your head

upward

and

onward.

A flutter of wings may stir inside

as the asterism of Ursa Major broaches the night sky.

Clusters of glowing dust may just have ignited the incentive of jewelry;

the way

they dance and sparkle

could have sparked the first necklace...

ever in history.

So,...

sip, sip, stir, sip, one more stir...

this cup of joe just is not doing it.

The tremble of my sleepy hand

carries the carafe past the stream of morning light.

Oh, the heavens of this daylight...

maybe a different roast will just do the trick.

Sometimes the daylight only brings on

a certain hibernation:

sleepiness.

sleepy.

not so sleepy.

almost awake.

awake!

Oh, Ursa Major,

make my night my day.

My carafe may be in pieces

but I shan't care more.

I am awake!

What is thy potion?

I ask the cosmos in vain.

Threads of wonder weave into a rope.

An anchor lies at the end.

So, onward and upward...

bend your neck backwards

and tilt your head upward

about...

180 degrees.