What to Call this Darkness

I do not know what to call this darkness.

The six a.m. light seeping into the pitch

Is not so much a glow as it is

A forethought, a feeble wish,

A premonition, a dread.

Perhaps it’s dredges of hope from weary Christmas lights,

A call from tenacious shop signs,

The whisper of a basement curtain left open,

The urgency of high beams,