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