The morning

Splintered in the stillness,
    Illuminated by the dull
Morning glow
She is empty,
 Wrapped in the limbs of refuge,
She is mundane,
Infatuated with stability
And the ways
Conformity cacoons her,
She stares at the crumpled maps
   Allowing her mind to trace the paths
She no longer wanders
She breathes slowly,
Exhaling her aspirations
And replacing them with docility.