Just Before the Morning Wakes up the Day

Just before the morning wakes up the day

I have thought of every second what to say

As dawn to which a thought can be compared

And it brings fortune sunlight to the years

Darkness will return again is certain

Wander and encroach by innate pattern

Stoked by rail failure or betrayal

To Hear what private wisdom knows to tell

Of Silence in the silence overwhelmed

Remained and as a constant came to fall

Along the ridges of experience

Creation dividing heaven and hell

The clocks of all time with their hands held still

Break through to reach for Morning’s golden wheel.

on the thread of a moment its angle

suspended over the sieve of the flow

where time takes its substance from reservoir

silent and still, the volume is equal

harmony believes a flower grows crown

from underneath the arches of the sun

and sun-like that it lives it lives to sew

hems from every petal’s face and sinew

water that is author of the stylus

eye of every violet ultra fine stems

that grow as grow invisible to time

imitating aspens for their forage.

A bird comes to mind by  power of word

a song for every sound to sing the hour

falling from the branches where the bird stands

its gentle pulsing song drums on the leaves

the branches form an auditorium

the trunk becomes a flute played on the keys

that wood and wind and delicate pestles

blend from dustless sparkles sounds of beauty.