Sunday, November 29, 2015



Gloaming is gradually pushing night away.
Casting a magician’s spell, day sweeps
His arm in a wide arc, left to right.
The sky submits to his behest.
Darkness retreats faster than low tide pulling back its forces,
Fading until morning is a garment washed many times.

Dawn is a gray wolf’s coat streaked with white clouds.
Blue and pink light diffuse, a river entering a delta.
Moon and stars now gleam faintly, soft as kindness.
Daylight is spilling, gentle waterfall, over the window sill.

The house begins to stir, a living animal.
I hear tinkling utensils, clattering plates, sloshing glasses.
Coffee is percolating, a gurgling snorkel.
Birds let loose warbles, sinuous wrist movements of a dancer.
Clearing throats repeatedly, roosters do not understand
Only once is necessary to remind everyone day is here.

Din rises, tittering audience before a performance.
Turning squeakily, a faucet drills water into a pail.
Commuters gun their engines. Motorcycles roar, punching holes in paper.
Chaos breaks out, a bull bounding free from a maze.

Originally published in Pine+Basil, Volume 1, Issue 1, page 20

Sunrise Through Mist by Ken Bushe

1 comment:

  1. Beginning the Church's liturgical year, Advent (from, “ad-venire” in Latin or “to come to”) is the season encompassing the four Sundays (and weekdays) leading up to the celebration of Christmas.