Dark Mornings

There is a different kind of morning

when the sky is still black.

When the clock reads something unreasonable

and the sun has not yet agreed to rise.

He calls for me in the dark.

And I walk into his room

with a body that is willing

but not quite ready.

There is something tender

about waking before the light.

Our bodies are still holding night.

Dreams not fully released.

Dark mornings ask something different of me.

Less productivity.

More presence.

Less accomplishment.

More attunement.

And by the time the sun finally reaches the window,

we have already begun —

not abruptly,

but gently.

There is a grace

in easing into the day.

Even when it begins in the dark.