Tuesday, May 1, 2007

Morning Couplets

There is a morning scent, perhaps a mix of damp leaves and lawn
near the sidewalk, a still pool of last night's fury; the calm, labouring earth.

Sideboard heaters keep me in a dizzy dream state, a thin pane
of glass separates this warm bubble from winter's cold pin.

In winter's gray morning wind, the trees find their rhythm,
they sway in a whimsical ballet, bursts of petite jettes.

Gray hangs over my view frame like a canvas
from the couch, through the sliding glass the day is a still-life.

The day is submerged in water, drowns the thirsty plants,
we look to the sky for small pools of mercy, are given the skim off the Atlantic.

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