STEADFAST IN THE MORNING
Giles Goat Boy, was it? John Barth
or John Fowles? Long enough now
to be forgotten. I awake and find
myself staring out : Morning makes
a ridicule of the heavily-labored
new snow, as the bright sunlight
glints off the world. My eyes try
responding, but they cannot shut.
-
All these morning shadows now
are leaning to the left; harshly. Trees
and bushes, barns and cars. Everything.
By five o'clock, they lean in the other
direction, and I watch that too.
-
Life is a rhythm within a noise, a rumble
wrapped in silence, a waterfall's roar in
the muted hands of daylight's wrapping.
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