New York Morning

6:30 rising while New York is still half sleeping grey.
Roll out the green yoga mat, yawning, stretching,
pulling hair out of face with the elastic that's always
on my wrist.
We wake up together, New York and I.
A pint glass of water first, and apple slices
thrown into a pot with cinnamon, turmeric,
cloves and ginger.
They simmer while we resume stretching.
Inhale, arms over head, spine long, stomach taut.
Exhale, collapsing into foward bend, head on knees, hands on floor.
Downward dog, plank, upward dog and warrior pose.
Each pose slow and breathing deep. Sivasana.
The smell of stewed apples is filling the living room now.
Second pint of water and the Bible from the shelf.
Proverb of the day.
Through desire
a man, having separated himself,
seeks all wisdom.
The apples are almost done.
Eyes closed,
chest rising with the morning.
New York sits with me,
grey haze giving way
to lucid blue.
We take the silent morning
in together,
deep
as we can.