Before the Light Changed

I'd been at it since midnight—

not working exactly,

more like running the same number

over and over,

the way you check the balance

knowing what it already says.

Around four I gave it up.

Closed the laptop.

The room was still dark.

The window still black.

Then: the birds.

Before any change in the light—

before the sky had done anything—

they were already going outside.

All of them, apparently, starting together.

I lay there and listened.

The window stayed dark for another twenty minutes.

The birds don't wait for the light.

That's what I couldn't stop thinking about.

They go by something else.

The sky started to gray.

The number was still the number.

The birds were still going.