The morning cometh

12 September 2009

Today rose early, as I slept-- before my deep night's slumber had even thinned to a twilight torpor.

His entourage marched solemnly ahead in long royal robes of velvet shadows.
The canyon winds, who had held their breath so reverently in the midnight anticipation,
began, quietly at first, to whisper amongst themselves--
and then applauding through the aspens, they welcomed the first glow.
For trumpeters, the birdsong cried his coming!

Fresh faced, he glowed with the pale pink, sun-kissed promise of a summer day.
Over the cusp of the road to the east, he peered, then stepped, and then danced
into the receding night.

There were those waiting that saw him,
that leaned out of windows thrown wide,
that felt his new glow on their expectant faces,
That saw Today come.

But I slept, my shades drawn, dreaming about a fishing boat that doubled as a circus clown--
a meaningless phantom that sailed always away into my dim unconscious.