A pale smudge where night forgot to close its curtain.
The hum of streetlamps shrinks to a pinprick of light,
as if embarrassed to still be awake.
Air shifts from cold to curious,
carrying the whisper of unseen wings.
Shadows loosen their grip on rooftops,
sliding back like a tide with no shore.
Each change is so slight
it almost slips away,
folding into the quiet-
until the scattered dots align.
Light spills over the horizon in one long breath,
a sentence written in gold and rose,
and the sky, startled by its own reflection-
realizes it has been morning all along.