A New Year and the Gift of Day

The morning begins out at sea

smeared orange and charcoal

which lightens as it opens.

 

Dark shapes say the birds feel it

stretch their wings to shake off sleep.

 

I think I hear a slow beat.

All colour returns to our world.

It hums hope

remembers nothing

dreams only of itself.

 

We may lose it if we slice it fine

not seeing its chances. Unafraid

of our slicing, it trusts us with its gift.

 

She asked: What is it you plan to do

with your one wild and precious life?

 

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