Something small and winged outside my window sings
To a new day? To invite it's kind in chorus?
It does and that's enough

An Old Sun arises to a fresh born day
Not yet birthed but burgeoning
A thousand times a thousand
Indian paint brush reds come back to me
From the pipe racks and sky reaching cranes
These made things but also growing
Ideas given structure by flesh.

There, off a mile or so
Boot heavied feet clump
Horns warn, diesels clamour to motion
Rattling about, a handful of rocks in a Campbell's can
Once again to bring into being so much intent.

And Beauty doesn't mind
Isn't such a fragile thing
That the hiccups and yawns of all our
Micey thoughts should scare it off
It's Here.
Light upon Light upon every angle

Something small and winged outside my window sings
It does and that's enough.