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