about the morning

(this was a poem i submitted for class, and used bits of other poems i have previously posted.)


all is silent about the morning
before it breaks over the mountain
soaking into my window panes.

sometimes i wake just as
the black night fades into dawn's gray
i am reverent as a child.

the moments are a sanctuary
the dawn a cathedral where
i hear only my breaths
deeply drawn and poured out again
a prayer, fervent and humble.

all is still and from my pillow
i watch the stained-glass sky arrive
in royal purples and golds,
a holy march to morning sun.

the sky, wide and
plush as feathers in down
bids me to sleep again and
not soon forget these things i have seen.