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

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