The Weight of Morning

Morning light perches on the window frame and the scent of coffee slowly rises to its feet Over the street not yet awake an empty can rolls and the newspaper carrier's bicycle wheel splashes drizzle on the wet asphalt The clock by my pillow points to the same hour as yesterday and I take socks from the drawer and find an old hole The small weight of having to start something again today settles on my shoulders but suddenly, outside the window a single streetlamp not yet gone out is waiting for me