The balcony held the
first light, soft as
unbleached linen.
She wrapped her hands
around the ceramic cup,
heat seeping into her
palms. The tea's steam
rose in lazy spirals,
dissolving into the cool
air.
Below, the city stretched
awake—a distant car, a
bird's tentative call.
She didn't check her
phone.
The day hasn't asked
anything of me yet.
She watched a leaf drift
from the railing,
weightless, unhurried.
The quiet was not empty. It was full of beginning.