summer morning

It is summer time of the morning
it is neither cool nor warm
not bright nor night
the soul opens
towards the east
like a budding flower
searching for something
which it cannot define
except for the poets
it knows it will find there
it would be perfect
if I had a lover
and I hope my love
has one today
to share the daybreak
with such promise
for tranquility
should be shared
with the memory
of a night together
intertwined and now spent
and who am i
to harbor anger
to be jealous
of the happiness of others
which i scorn
for reasons
I cannot explain
even to myself
even with all lines
all the time alone
without my lover
on summer mornings