Breeze combs out the trees’ bed head,
while maple leaves, catching low
morning sun on their top sides,
bob up and down as if dawn’s light
carries weight in addition to
blinding strength.
Dew refracts the sharp edge of day
into millions of diamonds, tiny gemstones,
precious, yet soft as morning kisses.
A hunger-emboldened rabbit, piston legs
slowly pushing out of the shadows,
finds a twig full of sun-laden leaves,
consuming their light like that cloud
the breeze pushes south to north
will eat the sun’s. But not before
late-hunting owl’s taloned shadow
takes rabbit’s light first.
This piece, persistent as dawn through an east-facing window, broke up a potential nap I really needed today. I can always sleep tomorrow.
A Thing for Words 