In the morning the doves’ lamentmixes with the hum of distant trafficand lawnmowersa conversation bouncingbetween the treeslanguage following the networkof branches and shade, cover There are hawks in this neighborhoodwho also listento the deep breasted plea for lovethat echoes from thoselight hollow boneswhile squirrels scratchalong their fence highwayto fuss and chatterat the cat From myContinue reading “Morning”
This morning a song is happening. . . .
Baudelaire said to be drunk, always, so this morning I am choosing tea and sunshine. . . .
Ferocious as a violin
whose bow knows constant friction
this morning saw the day begin
with nature’s noisy diction
The song of the morning
is a lot of ecstatic tweets,
high pitched messages,
and low slung motor grindings