The morning seems barren
like the possibility of sound after snowfall,
and the light, grey and impassive,
slips through cracks in the blinds.
While the young birds chirp their ancient tunes
steam off the tops of coffee cups
moisten your face familiarly
with each hot sip and quiet scent.
The day will pass too quickly,
and each moment too slow,
but now in the tired in between of peace
there is a oneness I've wished upon
like a lone meteor imparting hope
in a faint trail across the night's sky.
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