what morning has not known the mountain it must cross
its snowcap and melt around a single spring flower
the blue slate sky fills with zeppelins of clouds
every day a new restoration
a new promise
generations never quite the same twice
this is nothing we can hold still
regardless of season
or weather’s meanness
like the passage of laughter or sadness
the sky and land are sewn together
parting like lips
when light is an aura
closing when sighing with nightfall
a story settles down for the night
curls its magnificent differences
trying not to wonder
Light tries to penetrate the cataracts of clouds.
Stars are rising, making bold statements.
Flowers turn achingly towards scarps of light.
Season keep grinding forward,
following their necessary urges.
I want to be motionless in this light.
I want it to enter me, purpo