In early morning
a stone of stillness
holds back dawn.
Night begs to turn over
and go back to sleep,
but horned owls,
have returned to roost.
Small prey nest in peace.
Songbirds perch poised
for morning lullaby.
In the coming day,
everything is new again,
all things possible.
Those of us rising before the sun
saw day stalk the sky,
watched cold night turn —
mauve pink green grey blue —
saw moss rose lips
pressed tight begin to part,
sensed sunflowers stirring
to turn from west to east,
saw the mist rise, the unknown
become clear and hard edged,
the still water turn to chop,
while others slept like children
trusting to day’s arrival.
Hours later we will pity you
Knowing the gift of dawn
is non-transferable.
