Morning Poem, July 17, 2016

 

 

 

In the morning haze the light is white, not golden

The sky is white, not blue

The chirping and chattering of the birds

And the distant sounds from the highway

Are all white noise

Moving across the horizon like a long, breaking wave.

.

Hoist like sails between the power lines,

Dew-laden spider webs billow slightly in the light breeze

Last night’s work, all of them

Almost unbelievable in their intricate geometry

They expand and contract like lungs.

.

The branches in full foliage droop and sag

As if not yet awake.

 

Copyright 2016

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