It’s early morn with the sky fussy
with purple and red pumpkin
and as cool as a cucumber
on a grassy knoll of
Elysium.

Spoonfed sunshine and headlights.
A vast Pause moving
like a cat on a moonbeam
is Now.

Like a moment stalled by
everlasting Brevity.
Lank flags droop
on pillars

lightning rods face palmed in dead air
.
Bruised fruit cooling heel on heavy branches
launch dew driven arias of succulent oils
upon the calm expanse of Dawn.
I see houses held in suspense-
sprawling like mushroom cabins
with orange windows
squatting under chimneys and indefinite
Serenity.

With all the Grace of an improbable rack of Antlers
the last stars spike the waning dark
as luminous elan unfurls, spun from a loom of all mornings
dislodged from a long Night.
There’s a hum in the World
as golden as a bonny lass.
And a Silence

as loud as you like.