It's a profound moment when
that first morning dawns, in which
everything we once loved is
still dead—and yet, there suddenly
exists simultaneously the impossible
feeling that, one day, it might not be;
that soon, a new season will reanimate
even our even the most hopeless-
ly insubordinate of subjects;
that right now, we are only living
in the breath before the first rusty
note of a new song is sung;
and that, for now, we might
just be content—
to sip coffee inside
draped in lamplight
and to gaze out the window
and witness, with no small
satisfaction—the exhilarating
stillness of objects.
