Sounds of morning

            inside the music of light

            lies an embodiment of

time, its imagery of you

a catchphrase of shadow,

            the project of a Dream

            toward infinite wonder,

Inured by the well-meaning wind –

            so I am lifted towards you in

            a disaffected way, in utter calm

            knowing full-well the value of

Or discovery, our understanding of knowing,

            where topographic pointillism

            regards you as foreground in a

            landscape no one knows about – but you –

An inclusion no one expected, and yet -still- you know.

©  K. James Ribble