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 

Life it seems 
becomes a series 
of separate pictures 
be it album 
or phone or 
mind just simple 
quiet clicks looped
together with song
no melodies though 
just the beat
of the heart 
as it breaks 

How does full
become less where
does more go
to be least 
is it honesty
that whittles away 
dreams or is 
time and age 
hope once was
this very thing 

Tis quiet 
here now 
and cold 
though the 
sun like 
a doting 
governess chases 
the chill
with the 
promise of 
warm sweaters 
of dawn

And like 
every other 
jarring thing
this too
will pass 
be swept
or kicked 
or put
behind something 
or someone 
the past
has plenty 
of room 
for the 
presents forgotten 
and gotten 
used to’s