Dawn stirs a waking body, without REM, 
frustrated tossing, back and forth, 
in nascent reckoning, as light breaks preoccupation.

Animals move in sounds, made in branches and woods,
not far from the window, where ears lean in,
awakening beating and stirring vibrations, connecting heart.

Hands shield, then rub away shuttered thoughts.

Slippered morning feet shuffle forward,
creating carpet lines, as memory of a journey,
to kitchen where hands ignore foisen, fumbling a brew.

Hidden under dark cabinets, with shaded crevasses,
next to a windowed sink, diminishing sun-rays
form silhouettes of the countertop infusion.

Dripping waters smell of nutty grinds,
as brewing takes time, and hands wait
with a “hurry up” never "fast enough" waiting.

A warning signals the move to the next station.

Pouring. Seasoning. Drinking, while
the blue room screams for attention, begging
hands to the mahogany desk to companion obsessions.

Feigning to start something, hands on the leather blotter freeze 
against a frenetic mood, but pushes forward, against trust,
clicking inanimate plastic ideas, or dodging turbulence, forward.

With blind expression, angst spills on white page, 
letter after letter, a deep blue ink, absorbing, 
creating blue walls, a sealant closing an inner room.

A bird hits the window, hands stop,
a momentary solace, a recognition of conflict,
animate and inanimate clash.

The clicking resumes, and blotting continues.