Dawning by Yahia Lababidi

There are hours when every thing creaks

when chairs stretch their arms, tables their legs

and closets crack their backs, incautiously

Fed up with the polite fantasy 

of having to stay in one place

and stick to their stations

Humans too, at work, or in love

know such aches and growing pains

when inner furnishings defiantly shift

As decisively, and imperceptibly, as a continent

some thing will stretch, croak or come undone

so that everything else must be reconsidered

One restless dawn, unable to suppress the itch

of wanderlust, with a heavy door left ajar 

semi-deliberately, and a new light teasing in

Some piece of immobility will finally quit 

suddenly nimble on wooden limbs

as fast as a horse, fleeing the stable.

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