I haven’t become tomorrow, yet. Today’s sun is still within seize, my fingertips still partially melted from grasping as much light as possible. Dawn just left me, dew-topped grass, the sign that night’s cold was recently here. Inhaling the scents of life is adhering that sense to the spillage of creation. I love color. Flowers interest me: the aroma, each body different, each color, its own sense of recognition. Outside my home, I reach down & extend my flaming fingers, gripping a handful of sunflowers, roses, amaranths. None I enjoy more than the next. Together: a formation to hand to my mother: a gift to warm her home: a memory of my gesture when I return to my own place of rest. Gifts are everywhere: children laughing, sunlight dipping to color the concrete warm, seeing an old couple embrace after life has given them togetherness as a lifelong companion. I observe all that sees my eyes move with their shapes. When tomorrow does come, I’ll have more knowledge of how to enjoy its blessings—how to become enthralled even if the gifts are sparser, hiding within cracked shadows.