The orange street lights wait
With heads bowed to be relieved.
Rows of curtained windows
Long to draw back the night
And excited raindrops cling
Perilously to leaves that would quiver
But nothing dares flinch
Or stir from sleep
Until we receive the call
That the gallery is about to open,
For this morning we are all
Painted so perfectly still.

All that is except for the clouds
Those great grey whales
Whose mystical journeys
Are chartered at first
By the faintest streaks of blue.
From under the ocean I marvel
As their huge resolute forms
Lumber purposively across my world
And I realize that the miracle
Has happened again,
I can breath unaided.

Now smaller shoals of fish appear
And lighter in form and texture,
All they want is to play
So let them have their moment
Let them disperse and lose their way
Or else face the conquering
Legions of a Royal hue.

But for now, gentle radiant light filtering down
Permeates it's subject, like a thank you.