Morning of a New Year

The early morning excites me.
The pre-dawn yawn only after staying up
all night or having woken up
hours before the first glimpse of the sun.

The layers of snow, now settled, trick
morning into believing she is more
fully awake. Snow is a mirror, a mirror.

It’s the precise moment of dawn where
the light, clear or cloudy sky,
matches the ground’s hues and honestly
I feel I am falling upside down
into the giant’s kingdom.

Then I find myself absorbed by the
immobile snow and realize falling is
too furious an act for this kind of
morning; this morning which lies so
still, so quiet, only dulled by the din of
the paused television, hushed, yet
unmistakable in the peaceful solitude,
somewhere between snow and sky.