Mornings
I'm awake before the baker's rise
Heavy eyes at half-mast, I stumble downstairs
To the coffee machine; the dark liquid blooms
Outward with heat in my stomach
One more cup and I'm ready
Stepping out onto sleeping streets
Morning chill converts my breath to vapour
It hangs around my head, thinly white and streaming
A silver creek flowing upwards
There's a mist over the town this morning
Shops and streets in shades of gray
Now color gains new contrast and
What worlds revealed are ethereal
Now the skyline blushes pink
My breath invisible, my goosebumps
relaxed
I grow warm beneath my sweater
Back on the path
That will carry me home
Streetlamps flicker and dim around me
They will die welcoming the day
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