Morning

On lazy mornings
They go in search
Of the whiff of cinnamon,
Throwing warm jackets
Over tired bodies,
Squinting at too bright
Lightbulbs and grabbing
Coffee cups with tiny tremors.

It is ritual, it is easy,
It is comfort and safety,
Resting elbows on worn wooden tables
And oversized, cozy armchairs.
It is morning and they
Are finally awake.