daybreak

the neighbor is awake too,
her kitchen light low,
bracing for the
day we'll share
side by side,
parallel housewives.
her neck as bent as mine
watching the news arrive
hot into our hands.
each flick of the wrist 
heavier now than
the winds 
overnight
that threw shingles from the roof,
tore pots from the porch,
trees from their roots.
we watch the sun rise and change color
the sky slowly crowding with gray.

last naive twilight hour -
hold still, wait.