Morning arrives in this poem as something small, physical and a little strange. The light is turned into a waking animal that arches its back, and ordinary things come alive: waste water "crosses its hands" as it drains, birds seem to tumble down the side of the house, and the sky is rolled up like timber. The images are playful and slightly dreamlike, as if the speaker is still half asleep and seeing the world in odd, fresh ways.
In the second stanza the poem becomes quieter and more intimate. A single hair lands on the page, and someone, addressed as "you," sketches the forest in grey pencil. A hooded crow lands in a tarmac yard. The speaker seems calm and attentive, content to notice small details rather than explain them. The mood is gentle, observant and still, with a hint of closeness between two people sharing an early, ordinary moment. The place names suggest a real setting, which the poem makes feel both specific and slightly magical.