2/14/2009

This Morning

Underneath morning's cloak
the song of birds, the cold
night's stones, the shy hands
of light emerge fresh and willing.

Tell me what day this is
outstretched and shaking
like river reeds, a nerve
of green and yellow.

What is this gift of silver
ladder, crystal thorns of
vining promise, thawing hills
that lead me onward?

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