The sun rises in the cooled air

It whispers at me to rouse

My head is heavy and hair is licking at the sides of my face.

Waking I reach for my periscope

And just like this I glimpse the day

When my sticky haired heavy head protests the notion of peeking out the front door

Through the scope and circle I witness life impelling

Smiling at the leaves blowing in twists

Sighing at the sunlight reflecting off the windows of the houses whose occupants have made little use of periscopes