Was it a car?
   A tree limb raked the house?
A lost wasp
   battling bedroom ceiling?
Just time to wake up?

   How do I? Not on purpose.
Calm surprise, a flower unclosed.

   A fine flower,
one foot in the grave,
   stiff ankle, unsteady leg,
peering where to situate
   next step.

But the way I burst up
   from deeps, detach
a buried habitat,  
   re-enter,

a yes-but-little-lower than;
   pink squalling efflorescence;
a hatching half old cilia,
   half mutant April wings.

I read somewhere
   just waking up can kill you.