a cold morning song
begins with breathing wood and crawling sun
that falls from evergreen peaks,
drawn down on gravity's hills that crest and valley,
each branch and 'cone struck and frozen
in shadows' contrast and scattered splendor.
Hardy converts from moonlight's convictions
wake and glow and perspire
forgetting dreams of brazen fur swept romance
in beds of leaves and down-feather moss
now rise, knee-spring pad-tread softly
embraced with prints of cool dewed earth.
a cold morning song
percolates walls and floorboards
built and laid in the naughts (never mind this century)
in time with coffee drip and pepper grind twists,
the tink-tink-tink of steel-ceramic swirling
and the smack as rubber gaskets completely kiss.
Arise with hunger of last night's whisper
sweet glitter and glistened waves call—
from distance sharing light, divine or witness
foreign groves that sway in citrus heat
and ache for pollen breezes like
strings of dust in serpentine space.
a cold morning song
ends in echoes and asks to be played again.
