morning earlybefore the rain,before the sun –the birds, the birdsare waking the dead,shaping shadows into lightinto light yesterday an addercrossed the roadscales aglow andpungent with life and i know how it iswhen our deities crawlfrom dream to bask a whilein the glory of spring sun – and how we in turn,like the silent scrapeof dust…
still now,with morningsspeaking in dragon breathand prophetic tonguesof shortening daysand the cold that comesthat comes –still nowthe birds proclaim the day,call clear bluehorizon to horizonwhile singing autumn songs,gorging themselveson fruit full ripe andsweet with sunlight gatheredand grown to seed.
in the quiet lightof mist morningbirdsong falls like rain condensationleaf gatheredand pouredfor the thirsty,the waiting,the listening – birdsong fallinglike rainfrom the trees.
it can be no heaven without the song of birds falling like rain to our thirst.
the year breathes. inhales in first breath of the trees, stoma new opened by the song of birds longing for light. it breathes, gulps morning lungfuls of sea mist and krill dreams, exhaling mountains air warm and fragrant and humming exoskeleton with uncounted translucent wings soft through the hill grass tossing up estuary sand…