(Poem 222 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

What is it about 4am
that makes magic drip
onto the page like wax?
The air feels different
when the dogs and sun
still sleep; the dew is
yet to blanket itself
across morning’s back.
There in the stillness of
the pre-dawn quiet,
thoughts have latitude,
and words permit them-
selves both whimsy and
wonder without too much
introspection or gravity.  
It is refreshing to be
acquainted with the
other side of night that
does not lay souls down
for fear they must be kept
but celebrates once again
the uprising of the spirit.

@Home Studio – 222^nd poem of the year