there is something about dawn as it soaks into the room,
like hope humming in the stillness, or tangible in the quiet
this replaces the thing i felt about the mornings, the feeling of survival

“Doesn’t pattern require – to be seen / as pattern – not just repetition but, as well, eventually, / the interruption of it?” (phillips)

i can taste it in my mouth while swimming in the halogen lights,
i spread it over my skin while showering under white lights,
i fasten it to my hair before i run faster than my heartbeat underneath the orange light of streetlamps i’ll never pass under again

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