Sunday morning, you are my sunshine

I smell Sunday morning in my dreams
Long before i stir.
My blindless window catches fire
With the rising new day
And the birds sing out of key
Warming up for later praises.
Sunday morning shakes me
I read postsecret in my bed
and write poems on my roof.
On Sunday mornings,
a Veil is torn.
And all over the world,
Truth falls, rain from the Sun.