in the east there begins to burgeon
the rosebud of a new morning
from this height I see it
to my right a leg stretching out:
the bridge gleaming in the daylight
to my left in the western sky
the other leg but in shadow:
a thin dark haze of birds flying
just roused from their nests and perches
at the midpoint with what seems tawny down
of stray clouds formed   there looms
as if blushing   that cherished bloom
which grants to my short days –
otherwise so cold and grim – all
their luster and their joy
their warmth and loveliness
from this height  all this I discern
and I hear you sighing
in the morning breeze

*    *   *

© Gregory V Driscoll  2015


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