First Light

The smell of the wet grass wakes all up first,
barely ahead of the chirp from the little bird out the window;
all in perfect time to wake all up from little soft deaths of sleep.

The blood-orange disk rises slowly but steadily
over the cracks and gorges on the face of the planet,
rising above grey chalk clouds, and pink-silver paint streaks.

Illumination on all that either is still in silent snoring slumber,
or crawling and moving, looking for fresh berries and leaves;
the coffee and eggs of all that is not human.

Still beating, the sound of your heartbeat, as it matches
second-for-second as the burning disk climbs higher,
catching and transforming chalk grey into powder sugar white.

Clear upper ocean pours through the heavens palette;
splotches of chalk, powder, blood, and rose;
all blend in and around the upper ocean and blood-orange burning disk;
heralding in clock-work cuckoo of rooster and chime.

May 'morrow be a hearty morning, a laborious day, a cessational evening and a little-death filled night, brought in by high and low contrasting disks of blood-orange light and silver-black shadow.





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