Morning Blog
Unearthly flickers, like steam snaking off the cup, new words stretch their dancers’ legs, impossible angles all fluid yet geometric, as a horse in the first stretch around the fogbound track. All the way up to the balcony, ideas limber up the way I once heard arias rising from the steaming espresso machines as they wheezed into production at seven, when even the campanile hadn’t yet penetrated the haze. Morning thought hasn’t fully emerged, world…