Poem #16 April 16, 2013

Pacific Northwest Morning Call

One lone bird calls out

In the blue-grey haze of early morning

The sluggish sun to arrive over the horizon,

 Barely trimmed a penchant for pink-tinged hues

 Highs and lows outlined shadow turning real

The tiny chorus member wills the day to begin

He sings the same call over and over waiting for response

From someone or thing to call back

The lonely swish of cars rush by on the nearby street

Not hearing him or his song

The dog across the street

Who bays at the moon, stray cat,

or leaf that moves under wind-power

Is silent, sleeping off the night’s intoxication

The tiny tunester changes his tone

To match the filling light that brightens

The grey to white reflecting the well-scrubbed heavens

Pure white against giant-man evergreens

Impossibly tall soldiers with their heads in the clouds

Drinking in the curtain of diffuse light and moisture

Hanging in the air filling their skyscraper-like lungs

The bird sits atop way up on a soldier’s hat

Singing for all the world

His job now is to keep the song and day going

To keep singing as the sun’s herald is renewed