If you turn off the lights,
present in darkness,
there is a time before morning
when the cold fingers of moonlight
have released their trailing grasp
and the sky tingles with uncertainty.
A time when sky suffers
in bruised patches of grey,
discernible areas of isolated transitions.
Faint lines of bright
scratch pale in the east,
the promise of day like deep blue welts
on a passive skin that cannot move.
And yet…
the watching brings movement,
the slow suffusing broadening of blue,
awakening and orientation.
Passive sky is warmed by rising azure spread,
grey bruises healed in the passage of time
as watching builds anticipation.
Alert, the sky attentive to its toes,
the heat like icicles melting on the eastern edge,
watching for the piercings of dawn.
This waiting in questions,
this not-knowing,
a wallowing in distrust….
slowly consumed by the movement of light arising.