Tomorrow, she says
eyes closed, head tilted to the windows
in the morning when the street lights surrender
when buses growl and cars blow horns
tomorrow, she says
pulling the blanket almost to her chin
when the lights flicker in the apartment building across the street
a random checkboard
tomorrow, she says
almost asleep now, a soft whisper
when I can smell the coffee
from the shop two blocks away
I will wake you up
when its violet