The Density of Delight

Of my delight, the world
finds meaning... early morning
rain, a beard of clouds
obscuring the rising sun,
the sweet breathe of a newborn sky.

Beneath my window,
flower peddler of silver-wet streets-
first steps of dawn in a city

that unfolds
like orchid blossoms,
a blank blue page.

Here, we'll write today
of gardens, of twirling leaves,
dew-green trinkets-

a necklace for the wind.

Of my delight, we'll write
how grateful are the eyes
emerged from darkness
held proudly on their stems,

alive, alive. And all we know
alive, alive. Things could be

different, we tell ourselves,

knowing is far heavier
than sleep or waking...

far more dense
than early morning rain.

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