Writing Exercise on Becoming

Become the dawn's arm sprawled softly on my bare chest.
Become dark Kenyan beans, the fragrance that releases the sun.
Become the frigidness, the sharp intake, the negative degrees.
Become ignition keys, the hum and the din of AM radio.
Become the sweat that wets my handspun curls,
Become the coolness as it pools behind my ears and streaks down my stubbled neck.
Become the faces that walk through halls without getting out of bed.
Become joy to bowed heads, there in the midst of trivial heaviness.
Become the rest of idle hours, the silence of an ancient room,
Become the smell of cedar boards and portly doors.
Become the measure of my labor, the ink of my corrective pen.
Become the sound of second hands, mouse clicks, and then
Become the bell that brings the silence once again.
Become the afternoon headache from voices high and cracking.
Become the reprieve, the cushions that receive my tired body.
Become colors in the Midwest sky, painting shoddy maples orange and red.
Become the bread in dark and tiled kitchens, the wine that warms my weary wife.
Become the deadness of a winter night, the rumble of a locomotive reviving it.
Become the invitation to sleep, the slender love that folds me in.
Become my day and night, the moon and the sun.
Become everything as it becomes one.