untitled No. 1111

Before the dogs of morning bark, when meringue clouds
float across a black-ink sky, I meditate earth's stillness.
I think about Beethoven, weary-eyed, counting candles
in his Moonlight Sonata
I wonder about some things: who will find those
who have died quietly, without so much as a whimper
the babies and mothers and soldiers, frozen in parables
of songs, wandering about breathless in their eternal sleep.
I wonder about our spinning world, so precious with life,
will the seasons of a heart bear fruit, sweet as a mango,
licked from a lover's mouth?
Will the columbine climb with the morning glory, golden honeysuckle
and ballerina rose, reach the stars beyond Redwood forests
looming like sentinels of time?
Will there be a day before the end of the world?
Before the clamor of colour rolls into the horizon with the
breaking light?

I dreamed last night of a vast army,
rows and rows of the number 1, falling down, one after
another, forming a skybridge for me to cross.

The melody of distance shatters all 'round,
I am thankful for a warm blanket on a cold morning.