Saturday, December 06, 2014

Dawn coming late

Dawn comes late
to the marl lake,
shielded by the weight
of chalk bastions
from early sorties.

Dawn comes late;
it doesn’t break here
but tumbles in its rising
like a morning psalm,
chanted by fieldfares.

Yawning awake,
the lake shines its face
to the tardy sun,
its surface rhythming
in the waking breeze.

Though I am alone
in witness
this is not loneliness
but soulitude.

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