The early sun is so pale and shadowy, <br />I could be looking up at a ghost <br />in the shape of a window, <br />a tall, rectangular spirit <br />looking down at me in bed, <br />about to demand that I avenge <br />the murder of my father. <br />But the morning light is only the first line <br />in the play of this day-- <br />the only day in existence-- <br />the opening chord of its long song, <br />or think of what is permeating <br />the thin bedroom curtains <br /> <br />as the beginning of a lecture <br />I will listen to until it is dark, <br />a curious student in a V-neck sweater, <br />angled into the wooden chair of his life, <br />ready with notebook and a chewed-up pencil, <br />quiet as a goldfish in winter, <br />serious as a compass at sea, <br />eager to absorb whatever lesson <br />this damp, overcast Tuesday <br />has to teach me, <br />here in the spacious classroom of the world <br />with its long walls of glass, <br />its heavy, low-hung ceiling.<br /><br />Billy Collins<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-only-day-in-existence/
