today

opening the door
I step outside
hear the holy hush
of five a.m. dark
no wind   no birds
earth’s pause

anticipating first light’s
early rustle
I imagine
our resident squirrel
rubbing his eyes
sparrows drawing
their beaks from
beneath wings, blinking
then just beyond trees
dove tinge   the promise

not wanting to hear
a car door close
or the choir
of tires on the road
I slip back
inside

2024 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.