Thursday, January 22, 2015

Sing the Day

From the crisp midmorning sky
Art by Brandon Vernon
bwvernon.blogspot.com
the sun whispers the names of the birds,
in her voice the sibilance of
brittle leaves embracing in the street.
Her daring winged lovers
skirt her light in flirting turns;
she gentles them
with fingertips of amber glass,
of shadow.
Her love lies in the contrast.

The birds adore her whispers
and they kiss her bare reflection
in the pools that grow
by drops upon the walk.
Exuberant,
they burst into the air,
rising on the flames of her attentions
whose brilliance sets their songs ablaze.

From the shaft of every feather
the chill of evening breaks
and falls away.
She smiles.
Their mirth relieves the cold
that hangs in blame behind her,
the distance ever pressing,
the melancholy in the dappled shade.

Give no thought to night, they call;
Sing the day.  
The day is,
and so they revel in the glory of the sun,
risking all to gambol in her sight
(for even wings may fail;
they only know the leap).

The sun is!
call the birds.
Love her as fools love!
Sing the day!

1 comment:

mom mom said...

Beautiful! Except for the feather part! Why do you think you have this obsession with feathers. I think it is a brain defect that you might want to check on. Perhaps there is a cure.