Some Kind of Semblance

It is though
the light taps
at the window,
“but I am not
ready to get up,”
as a thousand
letters begin
to file through
my thoughts
to form
some kind of
semblance,
where beneath
the covers
I am still warm
but my feet
hang out,
as the house
still feels like
early dawn,
for I did leave
the window open,
where night came
and went
and morning
still taps, “get up!”

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