Dawn’s Ragged Song

The sky lightens uneven,

a pale bruise behind dark shapes

flitting against the coming day.

Birds call out—jagged, raw,

voices cracked and ragged

like my own restless breath.

Insomnia’s grip tightens,

every breath a rough note

against the hollow silence.

Their ragged chorus scratches the dark,

a howl unspooling before the sun,

a broken sound I cannot join.

The night unwinds slow and sharp,

while outside, the dawn cracks open

on wings too raw to soar,

and I lie still,

caught between sleep

and the ragged song of waking.