Harri's poem follows a group of people, "they," as they wake at sunrise and head out into the early morning. The sky is described in soft, almost edible colors, roses and robins' eggs, and the night hasn't quite let go: the moon lives on in "memories," and a "faint dusting of glitter" is still left over from the dark. The poem never says who "they" are, which makes the scene feel shared and ordinary, like anyone's commute.
The speaker seems caught between admiring the morning and wishing it hadn't arrived, which the title says outright. Their breath rises like smoke from chimneys, and the people wait "side by side" with time as a "mutual friend," a gentle image of quiet company. Even the sky seems to be "moving." The mood is calm, dreamy and a little sleepy. The last line, "A day begins again," feels both hopeful and tired, as if the beauty is real but the routine is, too.