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.