something you missed in the dawn
like a wind fallen away from
the crest of a hill
a find brought out on the
long rivers of dream to
the brink of
years unable to touch it
remember it though in
the light on those clouds
the gaps that would
close with brilliance.

something of the hill
in the dawn
the grass waxed over with sun
pine grown in the shaping hand
of storm branch rounded back
the westerly tethered in its knots
cloud smoothed along a blade
of silence the sky above
turning shades out of
an older sky.

a dawn on the
edge of voice
never in voice
cloud a steepness
that lets fall the hills
cloud walking
light on the sea.

december 2000

Copyright ©2000 Peter Le Baige.  All Rights Reserved

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