By multiplying days - by my years, I calculate  
I've missed twenty thousand dawnings.
Sure, I've had my share of chilly airs,
and the new day's leaking over jagged roofscapes: 
horizon's rosy fingers, pink tufts and golden flairs.
But mostly - they're unobserved, overwhelmed by morning's
rattling routines of teeth, shave, coffee and toast. 
Uncontemplated sky when our household awakes,
silhouetted, transition that never waits
No regrets, that's life lived, as it should be - almost. 

But this dawn's in hiding as I look out to sea,
there's no separation where daylight should be. 
It's showing me something I don't comprehend, 
an animal instinct - my days at their end.