Up at the cry

Up at the cry of dawn. The grownup groan responds to. Discrete moments of consciousness. In and out. What are the days but shiftings between such things? Vague as the sky is clear. Quick as the eye is slow. A robin whistling solo over the little rhythm of a sucking mouth. KC nursing Dash beside me. Stray little noises, chirps. Wholesome as salad. Warm as a cotton ball. I curl into the small of KC's back. Disappear again.