There is a time each day

before light

and colour

flood the world

alive with possibility

where the wind

stirs the trees

and birdsong

heralds

shapes come bidden

from nights clutch

In that hour

we know not

the shape of the day to come

We just know that it will arrive

the cloak of night

will slip away

and day stand resplendent

in the robes

you choose to put upon it.