Morning Poem, April 13, 2015

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AT SIX THIRTY-SEVEN

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When I looked out this morning, light was everywhere

In the rose clouds and on the green lawns, lush as carpet.

It filtered in streaks and rays between the blossoms

And the new, golden leaves.

The birds sang in it and were happy to fly

As if on the substance of light itself

As if held aloft by its tension and curve

And at the speed of its dream.

 

Copyright 2015

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