The dark morning was slow to understand

the tips of the evergreens, the corners of houses.

And least of all did it glow bluish on her cheeks,

arms in all directions and I, I creep out of bed.


The doors all look at me with these terrible expressions;

"You may never leave," they moan, sighing as I try anyway.

But I just find another blue ceiling and more tables and chairs

And more no-people, and the sun is just coming up


the morning air is the same inside and out, cool, and

and the only difference is the dampness of the ground

inside there is cold hardwood, and out here

cold grass

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