IT WAS NOT THE FIRST TIME

It was not the first time I collected myself to
slither off a leaf and splatter on another,
slather wetness on the ground

I remembered this
as I dreamt it in a flower,
my sluggish fuzzy exoskeleton clasped
in the closed blanket
of an overnighting flower

Sunrise illumined the petals,
opening them, tumbling warmth
into me, who awoke,
legs a moving jumble of
sudden awareness,
tossing myself
like a monk
rising from bed,
bumbling into activity