Why I sleep in (with apologies to Mary Oliver)

The warmth of my down comforter
like sunbursts after a thunderstorm.
Heavenly music of percolating coffee,
the breath of angels
misting through
winter branches
outside my sunrise window.
Oh, the pure love of
cozying into the familiar
and incandescent,
knowing you are there
always
in the surprise
in the opening skies
where one
or hundreds
of little cloud-puff sky holes
remind me of
my particularity
and infinity --
the bookends of my life.