It's the hour before
Even the early-risers rise
And pour the bath, or perhaps
The coffee
That sees them out the door
When everything is sleeping--
Except for me--
Cold, quiet.
Time does funny things
During this hour. It twists
Either into a few more
Or shrinks into a too-short moment
When the mind is on the verge
Of revelations only found
At such a bleak,
Abundant time.
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