The 5 AM Warning

The streetlight is a buzzing, orange wire

fighting the gray that’s leaking through the blind.

I am the only thing in the house that isn't tired,

wrapped in the static of a rewinding mind.

Then the first blue jay starts its jagged yell.

It isn't a song; it’s a rhythmic, sharp demand

to account for the hours where I sat and fell

into the dust of things I hadn't planned.

I look at the glass of water on the nightstand,

flat and stale, catching the cold, new light.

The day is coming like a heavy hand

before I’ve even finished with the night.