the early morning can’t hurt you
for it’s too soft with its yellows, its creams, its gray shadows and tired eyes

it cradles you in soft arms, a nostalgic mother, lulling you back to sleep
Close your curtains, baby, and climb back under the covers. It’s okay.

making but a whisper, the morning sky never fails to amaze me, the hazy sun soaking my curtains

We are slow in the morning, but we are happy. We are enough.