The day has not quite begun,
For the morning seems reluctant
To make its presence known,
To be seen and felt –
Much like those who groan
When their alarms go off,
Even as light struggles
To outdo darkness,
In a battle older than time.

The flow of cars outside my window,
Had started long before,
In that liminal state when you know
What is about to unfold,
Even without being told.

It is a rhythm that repeats
Every day, not missing a beat,
And yet it isn’t without change.
For I have lost the spring
In transitioning
From slumber to wakefulness.