Winter, 7:00 a.m.

I almost wake as I lumber 
lurching on sleep-stiff ankles 
and return to my night-warmed bed. 

In the east, out the window,
I watch the pine boughs shift
and sway and still and shift. 

Resting on the next street’s roofs
a pale gold light bleeds upward
behind the narrowing pine,

at the window’s top,
the sky’s grey-white
hints at blue.