The world is vacant

this early Sunday morning

except for the newspaper deliverer

and the liquor store

and the customer who waited for 6am.

Mostly people are inside

sleeping off hangovers

slumbering in a warm bed

of post-coital narcosis

lone desperation

passed out at a kitchen table

splayed with overdue bills

and trepidation.

Some greet the day with reluctance

some will ride bikes

and some will never know

Sunday morning exists.

As I drive my daughter

to the early church service

I pass stray tumbleweeds

the occasional roaming coyote

and a multitude of other

holy beings,

all unaware

that it is Sunday morning

or that it is January

or that it is 2009

but they are completely alive.

They are also ignorant

of their enviable

blissful

silent

existence.