Today it seemed Spring was peeping one eye open. Warmer, lots of people out, jogging or stretching their legs. 57 degrees. The dawning of a season, if not its full light.
by Gideon Burton
A dome of milk so fine it can be breathed
into our panting lungs, it can be swum
by winging flocks who have the mountains wreathed
with fading summons, easy does it come
upon us, spilled across the eastern crags,
this broken whitewash filtered through the mist
of morning’s silken patience, rippling, drags
its sun-wet newness where the dew has kissed.
A lessening, a weight relieved, a call
to step away from cloistered cave and cell,
brief destiny, to breathe into the small
of dawn’s perfumings, stroke it well.
I rise to join the living of the day,
so rich, so soon, so filled in every way.
Feel free to copy, imitate, remix, or redistribute this poem as long as you give proper acknowledgment of authorship. Photo: Flickr - Robe Warde.