Dawn

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.

Dawn

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.