I try to wake up each morning at 6a. I usually fail miserably. But here's a poem inspired by the few times I've succeeded!

Hark! I'm called through early dark to join the ancient choir,
to trumpet solar steeds before a chariot of fire.
I summon Dawn with shutters drawn, with sleep stuck in the corners - 
Now here she comes, the promised one, still fresh and rosy fingered.

I'll awake her with a gentle kiss,
whispering sweet nothings into the mist;

Oh, morning.

At the brown brink eastward springs, through the prisms skyscraping,
a rainbow. Awake my soul to sing.
A step to the street and down the block, downhill along the fence I walk;
Around the bend, down many steps, along the fence, up to the park.

With no entrance I threaten to intrude
because it's there I see the Spirit brood.

Oh, morning.

Over the bent world, with warm breast and with bright wings,
the Holy Ghost waves from her post across the black chain links.
But in this oasis prison it's the desert that's the fraud;
I barge to where the world is charged with the grandeur of God.

I sit amidst the trees and lift my face;
the Light and choir help me fill the space -

Oh, morning.

Click here for a blog entry from March, 2011 which is not quite so cryptic. Haha..