img_3570Today’s poem:




clatter of steel chimes

crackle of bare oak branches

night birds find the sky



It is not yet what I would call

today, the sun not yet piercing

black clouds in a black sky

the garden only a memory

of brilliance, a recollection

of color and movement

a charming tale told a child

when rain has kept her

trapped inside with old toys.


I stand upon the night-cloaked

garden deck facing east, my eyes

straining to mark the exact second

light occurs at the mountain ridge,

the moment objects real or dreamed

return to focus. With a full heart

I pray that moment comes, hope

dawn is as I remember it, filled

with the sound of wings lifting.





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