Morning Meditation

Light takes the trees

and gives them back again

the way the first light bleaches

the hillside, keeps half in shadow

does not move, yet moves

over the frozen trees, dreaming,

still, of winds and fire.

 

Two birds cross the sky

obscene crows croaking.

They are not hawks, clean

and brooding death.

 

My cat studies them and now

the sun dances down.

 

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