.
In the glow of mornings,
They are only new suns,
Little birds that become,
***** mades of lightfalls,
The birds wake so early,
Singing songs, ripe lips,
Palms tender, only eyes,
Breaking in mellow light,
They drink air knowingly,
What life waits for lovers,
Shining with alls creation,
Wrapped in bright sheets,
Fresh and ancient, purely,
Innocent as mist in dawn,
Flowers opening indoors.