A Still Dawn

I wake, womb-warm
In bed. My eyes flood the room.
The crack of the door blinds me.

A slipshod sprint of dressing
Morning shirts and burly boots
Cold coffee, a belly belch. Roots
Hold me to my chair. A blessing
Is said before I leave.

I look to the sight beyond the window sill.
The glum-grey morning stands so still
Still like a pool in a minefield.