rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,
rejectomorph
flying_blind

Dawn

Advancing, night brings the crescent moon, too thin to dim any but the lesser stars. The constellations remain complete, until approaching dawn brings cerulean light that restores detail to the eastern trees. These emerge as Orion fades, the last constellation to vanish. Eastward, Venus and Jupiter are caught in an oak, still gleaming for a while.

While the birds are yet silent, and the growing light has banished the moonlight's shadows, I listen to the faint sound of a brief, soft breeze, and then a shower of leaves that were unable to withstand even this slight stirring of the air. It is like the sound of old paper being crumpled in some room down a hallway of an old and otherwise silent house.

I do not wait to hear the woodpeckers wake, but carry the thought of the leaves' surrender back to my room, and let the chattering day take its course.



Sunday Verse


Perspective


by Pierre Reverdy


Did the same
Car carry me away
                I see where you came from
                You turn your head
Midnight
On the moon
Just struck
                At the street corner
                Everything is turned around
I saw her face
Even her hands
                The last star
                Is in the garden
Just like the first
Think of tomorrow
                Where will they be
                The thoughtless dead
When the wall vanishes
                The sky will fall


-translated by Kenneth Rexroth


Two more mild days, and then rain.
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