As the dew forms
and the mist settles
in the moments before Dawn,
i put on the kettle
and wait for the whistle,
the plume of vapor,
my Pavlovian triggers
of the tea i will savor
The warmth in both hands,
cupping a cup
as the light grows in the East,
pretending i am the only one up
though i know thousands rise,
so many without raising their eyes
Colors are lost to them
in their bland, flavorless lives
for while each day begins with morning
there is always something different
you may have missed the last time...
09-14-10
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