The dark still there
Plastic cup cover runs it course out into the day
Before tumbling onto its sides

Wheels rumble onto the road
Cars ahead of the still slumbering workforce
Defeated, no one notices the cup's cover
Nor wonders what it is doing there on the road
Passed by like so many things on a Tuesday morning

But I saw its little cartwheeled dance
Its fleeting greeting of midnight's newborn day
I saw the stillness of the wind that ever so slightly moved it
A bus stop souvenir instilled on my frames

Before everything comes alive
I watch the still-life plays that come out from the night
The cartwheeling covers
The sleeping trees
The strangers in the early hours
Waiting to catch their bus into the day