Before I stretched the canvas and before I drove to school and before I sat in silence sipping coffee for an hour preparing armor, I woke in darkness, with the cat biting my toes. Then I went to the sink in the narrow hallway where the stopper was held open by a paper clip and I removed the paper clip to stop the drain and in thirty seconds while I reached my arms above me like trying to grab the limb of a tree just out of reach, the sink filled with cold water, and I walked fifteen steps to the kitchen to turn on the coffee pot and walked back to turn the faucet off and then without looking at the tired face above the sink, I turned towards the mirror and bowed my face into the water, releasing the last of my first prayer in bubbles that rose against my ears and staying under for as long as I could hold my swollen face in its chill without breathing, and invoking, with some effort, its opening notes: Begin Here.
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