Morning

I could taste the morning

As it came

Its light

Filling my window.

I can smell it now,

As it is caked in gray

Crumbling into clouds

And the road,

Drawing its fingers

Down the feathers

Of every unstill thing

The treetops have to offer.

And the soft light

Draws its lines

And cultivates shadows

Under everything

Soon it falls

Melting over the cold, green lawns

Lined with trees

Shrouded in mist

Its departure

Is bittersweet

I should know

I can taste it.