John Reinhart
5 a.m. quiet clock ticks, a motor somewhere whirs lightly, the dog stirs; airplane overhead faint rumble as thoughts tumble under chairs into dark corners scurrying through my head
in this 5 a.m. quiet the chorus inside insists I listen spurred by coffee and freshened limbs; I try to sort out the melody but today the viola dominates and everyone is awake before the symphony finishes, turning my 5 a.m. quiet into day
2
