Full moon slung low in the sky like textured ivory,
Shadowy seas like stains on old piano keys.
It's as if the day is beginning backwards,
starting with moonrise not daybreak.
The pre-dawn year is still young,
lit only by the reflected light of months just gone.
Its own light yet to be revealed.
Meanwhile wispy clouds cross the hanging moon.
I board my train,
stepping with anticipation into the new day.
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