Save the early hour

The early hour is much more calm;
a void in time split by alarm.
Careful steps in total black,
whisper soft that you’ll be back.

Slip shoes around your stretching toes,
and gently push the door to close.
Fill your lungs with untouched air,
and feel how still it settles there,
as if to quench a thirst unknown.
Alone you know each breath’s your own.

Perhaps the universe started so,
some restless spark just decided to go,
woke up before six, before one, before then,
crashing about, woke every quark in its den,
jumped into its shoes, and kicked down the door,
tore our through the darkness, to seek and explore,

and perhaps it is now settled here in my breath,
or in the palm of a hand that will save me from death.