Daybreak

Despite the fact that I have a three day weekend, I have been rising every morning to watch the sunrise, and each time, it is equally and surprisingly beautiful. No matter how busy life gets, morning somehow manages to wash all of that away, and for a few spare hours, everything again seems simple and easy.

Daybreak

The half-moon stands illustrious above the trees,

there turned to watch the early earth unbend

in eyes and wings that waken with the western breeze

and stretch in sunlight shadow on the grass,

white-rymed and folded down in frost from end to end

and held as silent statues born in glass.

The winter black is wrenched aside as if a shroud

were split apart to prove the life that lay

beneath the still of sleep, with resurrection bowed

to swell and gasp the chill and quickened air

that bears the seasoned breath of cedar spray

and strands of smoke, the fields' hoary hair,

where little scraps of dusk endure in dip and fold

of wrinkled ground that wears its age with ease,

to wait the sun that rises slowly, rimmed in gold.

I cannot tell the moment when the day

broke forth so suddenly from secret eastern seas,

but when it did, all darkness drew away.