I know across the world

the dawn is breaking.

Somewhere beyond here

there's a room full of

sunbeams, dust, and cat hair,

fading curtains, and

sleepy morning dreams.

Where I am it's dark,

moonlight gleaming outside

turning blackberry vines

into a web of silver;

spider's tapestries glisten,

early dew and Inle's rays.

Where you are, there's a sunrise,

golden halos turning dust motes

into something nearly sacred

almost timeless

priceless, certainly.

It is midnight,

and yet my heart seems warm

as if it, somehow,

can see the sun.