Timbre of Morning

Yellow

Light meets window 
and still that rain —

How spectacular is it 
        really
that raven either glides
that black blade slicing
re-stitching heaven 
        or hops 
still learning 
the curvature of the Earth 
uncertain the ground will meet
its midnight feet

High above the sea
        well
you weren’t there 
        but
can you imagine the breeze 
coaxing aspen to shimmering
surroundings
        yes
even the raven 

        still 

only the sparkle of gold
to know you breathe

Greetings! It has been a few weeks. Unfortunately (for me!), I haven't been able to create the space to write. Saint Pol Roux is said to have hung a sign on his door that said “the poet is working” while he slept… I definitely have the word count to say the same. 

Last weekend I got the chance to spend time in Breckenridge with some dear friends - this poem is a distillation of a morning walk among some of the last remaining aspen leaves. Similar to how redwoods play with light and make the world feel ancient and deep with meaning, aspens seem to control time. On the back of a wind, they quake faster than everything around them, creating a brief moment of everything appearing frozen except for the aspen — a Seussian wonderland — all gold. 

A few things that have been speaking to me lately: 

• Perceive Its Beauty, Acknowledge Its Grace by Shabaka (Album)

• Endlessness by Nala Sinephro (Album)

• Perfect Days by Wim Wenders (Film)

With Gratitude,