Just Before Dawn
Image created on Canva
The moths have stopped circling the porch light,
their wings now are as stiff as old letters.
The night stretches thin —
a slow dissolve of indigo into nothing.
Somewhere, a dog barks twice,
then remembers it has no one to call for.
The wind picks up discarded leaves,
flipping them over like forgotten coins.
A train sounds its horn miles away,
a ghost passing through the ribs of the valley.
I stand at the window,
watching my breath fog the glass,
then disappear.
The dark is patient.
It knows how to wait
for the first hesitant fingers of sun
to pry open the sky.
Eager for more poetry? Try these:
- Barricade Moon – Poetry about the moon
- Morning Time – Loneliness in poetic words
- The Other Day – Saying Goodbye in poetry
- At Daybreak – Peaceful morning poetry
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Sara Etgen-Baker
After a 25-year teaching career, Sara Etgen-Baker began writing. She’s written a collection of memoir vignettes (Shoebox Stories), a collection of poems (Kaleidoscopic Verses), and a novel (Secrets at Dillehay Crossing). Her writing has appeared in a variety of publications including Guideposts and Chicken Soup for the Soul.
