Sitting here with a view of predawn Dublin;
Lights slowly flicker on,
A dark morning comes to fruition.
Stretching and yawning moans,-cold to chill the bones through,
And the others are asleep while I write to you.
Electrical outlets and jetlag at present,
As the global news dances on a set.
From this now local residence, everything must be accounted for in this list’s existence:
Not to miss a flipped switch, groceries, taxis, euros, and pubs, a lit doorway in the distance.
Sitting alone,
Taking it in.
Thoughts of warm tea, or coffee.
The cold in my throat looms as heavy as the cold in the room,
And the sun has not yet risen to melt it away.
I wait for Day Two in Dublin, a brand new day.
