Time

It’s this time 
time before coffee 
when my mind
is a cistern 
filled with leaves 
and sticks and 
remnants of some 
other time of
fog and low
hanging clouds that 
hide what’s there 
of chill that 
coats and covers 
and all buts 
and of silence 
the lonely kind 
that begs bears
and brings this 
why oh why