Anticipation Hush.

Doglike, the morning sun warm on my back, the night's cool reaching up out of the shadow cast. All asleep but the earth beneath, dark and squirming. Roots resisting my fingers, their unruled cunning an anchor deep. Then the moment – dawn recycling dusk's pale beauty, the anticipation hush of only birds. A day's first breath. The sun cycles it back for me, to a bus by a bridge, storming to university. Not even half alive, already tired of the hiss and the leash. Light bouncing off some fiction, warm on my face. Hands cool beneath cover and spine, verso shadow. Digging for truth in another world, feeling for meaning in that halfdark, rootless and wormblind, even then.