birds in early winter

In this constant crossfire of light

           I wept before the incline

           in the garden of feats, my own

discovery of you Across the ages –

Now the soft glass of morning light

           seeks the kindness of night

as lofty views seek the cream-grey flutter

           of birds in early winter

where morning’s caution brings

           elegance to the river-blue outline

of time passing in the moments I

           cherish in my thoughts of you

the phylum and story of these

           minutes rest softly on my

shoulders in a procession of its own density

           left to linger in this quiet mindfulness

adept like a memento’s recollection, where the

           objects of my vision and vanity are

humbled by the depth of my own awareness

           as I seek the dawn of your understanding:

assured of my rest – our time is coming

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