Bank of clouds

Hangs low on

The horizon bleeding

Streaks of crimson

Like medium-rare steaks

As dawn approaches

Quietly drawing up

Shades of night

Days sky begins

To hum yellow

White like plumage

Of molting birds

Early quiet remains

Except for one

Lone mockingbird calling

Into the silence

Car lights far

Off twinkle like

Alley cat eyes

Caught by surprise

Car tires shush

Sounding like the

Shovels beneath heavily

Fallen snow as

Coffee warms me

Removing the chill

Like hot baths

Day is yawning

Stretching and smiling