chariot of dawn

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.

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