22nd January 2010
The more I look outside the more it looks like night time,
the more it looks like a calm evening wanting to turn into night.
It feels as if I am writing by candlelight,
the man-made lamp shining a dim yellow amid the pale first light of day.
Where is the horizon?
I won’t see from here.
the sounds of morning crawl into my ears,
The sounds of birds, flocked away from the fears
of night owls and the chitter
of malevolent insects.
One must not mistake the first light for the sunrise,
A twinkle in your eyes,
like the first star in every night.
* * *
A small wave of disappointment surrounds me,
the tops of proud houses obscuring my view,
First light becomes a brighter day that begins at the skyline,
and extends all the way to the west.
There the sun will end the sharing of its light and will hide away,
from the day and
far into the night.
The moon might chase the sun and
further away from the sun
further away from the invisible line that splits a ray into what may be fire and ice,
and while I sit here waiting…
There are times I’ll wake up before the sun.