The Sunrise Epiphany

The brumous sky devoid of feature,
The future that I see.
Jack Frost breathes upon me.
The hours and minutes and seconds,
I never knew I would lose.
The idea grows in my mind.
Burrowing inside like a parasite.
Midnight is where the dawn is invisible.
A cloak and dagger cast away.
I cannot see the sun or the wind.
Though my skin shivers at its touch
Anticipating the Van Gogh dawn.