The Dawning

Morning bleeds slowly into a moonless sky
An awakening replayed over thousands of years
Its paint spilling across anything
That reaches thirstily for life,
It seeps beyond the obvious
And finds even that which burrows
Beneath the roots on the forest floor,
And at last the trill from a beak
Atop the highest tree
Reaches the depths below.
 
It spreads like letters birthing words across a page
Accelerating to the timbre of a beating heart
As breath stumbles over itself
Just to keep up,
Until at last it settles in the warmth
Of a distant field
Where it gently kisses petals
And lays content
In the arms of wildflowers
And meadow grasses
And breathes a sigh onto the wind
 
Another day born.  
 


september 2011

 
 



Awarded by Poetic Constellations ~ Alfred