Finding a Name for A Ritual

Solid sleep is maybe better than love or at least it is the idol I worship today.
The morning is cool and quiet, and I can lie here for awhile yet without time pressure.
They left me alone last night, and my sleep was entirely uninterrupted.
Upon waking I had a feeling of wholeness inside my head, like what was shattered had been magically repaired.
I'm a little tea cup, all better now.

Yesterday, I came across a book called  A Lover's Discourse.
"I keep swallowing and regurgitating my wound", that sentence resonates.
Morning is like that - waking, waiting, noticing, remembering, regurgitating the wound.
And then, in order to live, I must swallow again.
Choke and step forward with a little less enamel.

It's a holiday weekend.
In a few minutes I will rise, shower, dress, swallow and walk out into the day.
I will try to savor these last days of Spring.
Spring without hope, unfolding regardless.
I'm hungry for breakfast, and one has to be alive to feel that.