Awake Before Dawn

Just breaking the surface tension, sensing

history waiting to spill over the edges

of morning, she paused, spoon in hand,

as a globe of rouge peeked just over

the rough ridges of the May garden, untended

since September.  Leaving her earthen brown

bowl half full on the counter, she tiptoed 

through the kitchen, as if someone in the empty

house could hear her, and out the windowed

back door.  Strangely surprised by the dew 

normally gone by the time she rose on the average

day, she stood still while the toes of her bare feet

grew cold in the stiff grass.  It wasn't that

she hated to see the stars go, but that daylight

sometimes startled her after the smooth dusk

of evening, after the subtle notes played by the 

waves as she drifted to sleep.