The deathly quiet of sleeping people gives way To the morning air And my uncoagulated brain Floods my skull and thrums and coats my lungs And I breathe the vapor of my faculties On every atom of daylight
Then it is almost noon and steaming oats And dousing my senses in Sencha green Almost breakfast on Avenue J But skip the milk and hold the schmear
Then I whir with thoughts I forget
And night creeps up to me real quiet and slow Dead hour softens my sparsest wit Halts the cabs and the meetings And the truth and men and tomorrow And before I know it I am a beginning
For a time there is time, Yes, For a time.