Sometimes sleep comes late into the night
then rising creates challenges.
Will my day mirror the world outside my door?
I ponder my own statement as I step into
the gray soupy fog that blankets the drive.
Out of sync with myself, morning
coffee delayed by an hour or more…
instead of a caffeine jumpstart
there is a slow roll of becoming conscious
stimulation comes bearing good news
on its wing
the vagabond poet of my youth
wins Nobel Prize
this day may swirl with fog
& perhaps later
a hard rain’s gonna fall.
© Nancilynn Saylor
Morning on the street where I live