A LAMENT AT DAWN
Strange how sounds start a day:
one sees a salmon sky, hears a doe
cough, and I am sure the gulped
swig of coffee triggers a gargled rush
to talk to the birds before rain drowns
their canticles, before the staccato
of raindrops on the porch roof
could transform all these dawn
sounds into a flat diminuendo
that could drone on until sundown.
one sees a salmon sky, hears a doe
cough, and I am sure the gulped
swig of coffee triggers a gargled rush
to talk to the birds before rain drowns
their canticles, before the staccato
of raindrops on the porch roof
could transform all these dawn
sounds into a flat diminuendo
that could drone on until sundown.
But for these dawns, I know I cannot
invest any more time to understand
how this grandeur could lull souls
into reverential stupor while somewhere
else across the valley some sky is crimson,
a doe is charred venison, and warblers
fall one by quivering one into the forest
fire flinted by campers in dry Arizona.
invest any more time to understand
how this grandeur could lull souls
into reverential stupor while somewhere
else across the valley some sky is crimson,
a doe is charred venison, and warblers
fall one by quivering one into the forest
fire flinted by campers in dry Arizona.
O, that I could hold this heart ransom
for the truest and deepest things we wake
up for on mornings we’d wish we had not
risen to meet the same cold faces that we meet,
when the dying of sounds end a dry dead day!
for the truest and deepest things we wake
up for on mornings we’d wish we had not
risen to meet the same cold faces that we meet,
when the dying of sounds end a dry dead day!
—Albert B. Casuga
06-07-11
06-07-11
Poetic Prompt: The dawn sky turns salmon. Down by the stream, the hollow cough of a deer. A swig of coffee and I’m off to count birds before the rain. ---Dave Bonta, The Morning Porch, 06-07-11
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