early riser

your mother likes
that cloudy look
your eyes have
when you begin to stir

as if you still get confused
about where you have landed

then, you look around
and, unless you've had
some bad dream
whose words we cannot
even begin to imagine

you catch our eyes
and measure our faces

and reward us with
a sleepy sweet smile

as if you remember
once again
why it is
that we needed you