A curtain of pre-dawn darkness
hangs down on days opening act
as morning chill eases her
awake like a love song

Thoughts thicken into
slow motion moving landscapes
lost across the gloss of silvery seas,
the surge of them then merging
into a harp of sound

Syllables trickle in and drum
like raindrops, an artesian well of words
that follow her with florescence

Written by Sara Fielder © Apr 2015