MORNING SKY



The rosy flush of the morning sky
like a solid plate of aromatic light hammered
to let the dawn spill out, earth-shaking,

crumbling cavernous rocks italic-slanted amongst
blue crystal—this: the way centuries pass,
an image that balloons the soul, and this:

the way the dawn lifts our souls open like music boxes,
like watery vapor music ascending to awake
as if we’d been carried off by transient apparitions.