Friday, November 02, 2007


I don’t know about you, but my dawn doesn’t break.
No, it seeps through the cracks in the quivering night
that can no longer hold all those stars.

Do fingers of morning peel layers of evening
til nothing remains but the flimsiest fibers
of dark in unreachable corners?

Bottom to top, deepest midnight is rent,
silently, silken, with pussycat claws
and left in a ball by the stairs.

Either way…
If anything’s broken, it’s darkness, not morning.
The fire of sunrise sets darkness to dancing.
And dancing’s the nightbreak of dawn.


klerch said...

GPS, you really shouldn't deprive us so much of your incredible thoughts. More! More!

I absolutely love this. Isn't language beautiful when it comes to life and does a dance...two-step, ballet, swing, a little jig? So versatile, those wonderful, wonderful words! So totally alive and captivating.

Keep it up, friend.

Nathan said...

Nice. Two of my favorite dawn stanzas (which, as I am only a bad poet, I did not write, alas) are these:

The Maiden of the Morn will soon
Though Heaven stray and sing,
Star gathering.


Awake! for Morning in the Bowl of Night
Has flung the Stone that puts the Stars to Flight:
And Lo! the Hunter of the East has caught
The Sultan's Turret in a Noose of Light.

Still, I like yours, and I agree with the above poster that you should write more.

chegringo said...

I was recommended to this writing by another admirer of your writing, your sister. I concur with all the others. This is all simply exquisite. Thank you for sharing it with all of us. :)