Monday, 12 February 2018

7. Aubade





  The dawn is wide with light,
  air tall as the last faint star
  over an edge of night
  when the quiet sun lifts
  full over fields
  where broad corn moves,
  green as the garden
  here at my feet.
 
  I hear unstrung
  the peace of a great morning,
  shorten my sight
  to the wall where the wrens flit,
  quick with seed
  that is spread for them.

  Day lurches
  and they are gone,
  piercing the curtain of willow, 
  their fear sharp as cut flint.
 
  I turn to the house,
  hearing tuned
  to the dance of day,
  to the birds who return
  as they always do,
  filling the world's long silence,
  deeper and higher,
  with their vast chant.

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