5am and counting…

That midnight we spoke of,
and marvelled at its clothed array,
it looks so timid in the eyes of nocturnals,
who bake their silver skins in moonlight,
and sew their seeds amidst the dew
to farm a golden promise
and harvest us a fiery dawn
that breaks atop unrested eyes
like stars on their horizons,
whose heavy lids and padded sheets
can’t hide the glare of morning.