I am covered in Dawnlight
My snow boots deeply sunk into the night
And sun melting the icicles in my hair.
I fill my pockets with blue crisp stars
And lift myself into your arms.
But when I try to show you the light in my pockets
You see nothing but the beauty of my skin
Tanned by summer days.
And when I dance, I dance alone
With the moon singing in my thoughts.
We are consumers of grace,
A forever renewable greenery
Gardened by a gatekeeping horizon
Opening and closing its borders
Before our dream-bespectacled scrutinization,
Feeding our numbness alternately
with empty words and promises.
The morning is white and
Sinless in its Christening gown.
The sea half-dark in the low
Under the paling February sky
A network of narrow light shafts,
Matronly guarding islands
Like deep green
Sharp Rock-layered cliffs,
Pour, from invisible palms,
Grace over the cupped land.
All stretches out,
Changeable, dim and moody.
A bright-lit swathe of
And an intricate web of bays
Still admitting the inscrutable
Tides of cognition.
A place in the sun
Where birds cross
And cross again on the wind
Breathes your spirit.
A shimmering swathe of
To brush the tears away.
And a voice,
No more than a whispering
Echo of a gentle breeze,
Falls into consciousness
From the farthest margin of our being;
The resting point of oceans,
Moving us, in shining certainty, along
The cluttered existence
Gray and mute.
There is no cadence in the wind,
As if numbed by the winter forest.
There is a stench of sorrow
Shrouding all safe exits.
Even the tide is holding its breath.
Then, a blossoming of light,
Soft violet and blush,
Splitting the ocean in a glittering trail
Of rose gold and silver.
The echoing cry of seabirds,
And feathers shivering
In the eddies of the wind.