Morning stirs the snoring sun

dreaming of planets to warm.


Out the window,

birds have gathered for breakfast,

but forgets to tune up,

so a strange jazz plays out

in overlapping notes out.


I’m pulling awake slowly,

retreating a welcome,

a rebirth of seeing,

raw sight is new sight,

hearing is new sound.



23 Oct 08

Dave Barber

Collection:  Out of Frame