The black sky turns navy, turns blue
It is tomorrow
Today is yesterday
Yet it does not feel in the past
Still fresh, it lingers
It taints the morning with its unanswered questions
With its thoughts weighing heavily in the air
It is hard to breathe
Barely notice the rising sun
Roosters crow in the distance
Cold permeates the room
Seeping through the walls,
Like a ghost of Christmas
Chilled and Aged
Not as fine as wine
More than sour grapes
May the heavy head be cleared with the fog