Drinking yesterday's coffee, I watch
the East sky's blush
the black of night dwindling slowly
as if soaked up by the dark outlines
of the trees

like their limbs
entwined and crisscrossed
my mind is cluttered
with the night's dreams
dreams that won't be sorted
won't be grasped
won't even be remembered

fresh coffee doesn't help
it only makes my brain more wakeful
more gnawing

outside the blush is fading
blue emerges

releasing their darkness
the trees
disentangle themselves

like the unknown dreams
I have no idea what the point
of it all is

and the day goes on
without me