There is alchemy, to be sure,
in small hours of morning.
No one sees it but a few,
with the thick dark humming
electrically as people
sleep despite the strange stars
that are out and the few people that
are out and the cold and wet
air that waits for the sun
to crest hills.

I don't see that much anymore, though.
The morning I see is crowded
to capacity with blurred eyes,
awake, but not really, and it's
just alright then. It's alright
becuase it has to be.
It's alright for now.
I feel the afternoon.