Monday, March 30, 2015


Not yet in time—in the still moment
before moments,

before heartbeats, before melody,
even before any such

face as you may
have later read about 

dared to break the stillness and move   
upon the surface

of silent slumbering waters; 

the very first light of creation—

mottled, not pure 
white, in fact 

still fairly heather
and slightly green with pale cold

from that timeless winter's night before,
but nevertheless

blushing with just enough 
promise of the proximate season

that its faint kiss,
imbued as it is 

with just the right kind 
of slight warmth

so as to gently begin motivating each wave 
to awaken;

in turn causes—
our face 

to first crane, and then 
to bend its very 

fitting v-neck in benediction.