Before this early moment,
another, ripe with rain,
the scent of its own full shape.
Each day the rooster
we have never seen
raises the first greeting
and darkness which holds us
in its loose pocket all night
sets us down.
Now we walk,
waking up rooms,
switching on lights.
Into the breath,
wordless but ripe
with all possible words,
messages not yet gathered
or sent.
Morning looms,
more friend than
the best friend.
We could still say.
Art credit: Untitled image by unknown photographer (originally black and white).
This morning it was not the rooster, but the hidden hooting woodpecker, and its hard-headed thwacking, that woke me and I slipped from that loose pocket of darkness and quietly greeted the morning.
ReplyDeleteHow lovely to recognize the looming morning in another's thoughts!