most mornings I stand at my balcony
looking on as dawn breaks
I see the mist of April
give in to the molten light:
soft, crimson and warm.
just enough for the birds
& the pores on my skin to wink.
most mornings I stand on my balcony
thirsty and desirous.
for when the chariot of light arrives,
cutting through the horizon,
the dust of cold no longer lingers.
Pillows of Life 