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
