(an author's private haunt)

Daybreak

The sun sneaks in underneath the sky,
Late to make a day, neither broad,
Nor light, nor morning, nor night.

 

Exposed airy dew, charged by searing
Gas lamp artifacts, a spectrum of mist,
In moiré, almost precipitated.

 

The anticipation lubricates this world,
And the night retracts its cover,
And a brave bird reveals her kind.

 

Saturated benches, sills, and cars begin
Again, amniotic, hermetic, unbroken seal;
Soon she will wipe them dry with her stare.

 

Diffused, she gathers her parts, and lights
Her flame.  If she doesn’t once again
Make magic of a tardy day.

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