Hope

the first light
from above the mirrored cabinet
pierces the left eye
until the pain receeds
back to Broca's Area
where my words play
gingerly upon some broken tramp
oline.

the splash of cold
water does nothing
to assuage the fear
of a day weeping,

but still, the toothpaste
feels good and the mouthwash
bites so joyfully
llips slightly chapped
are wiped with bees wax

nearby,
the dew slides down
a blade of grass
and a chicadee reminds
the world
bad music, good music
the migraine
it's all the same.