awakeningThis was written after a sunrise at Airport Mesa.
December 27, 2005 : Sedona, Arizona
We sit in darkness and wait for the sun
pulled from its rest
by creation anticipating.
Like a child, even it resists the morning
hovering there on the brink
of wake and sleep.
The trembling needles of the pine,
The blue rock begging to burn orange,
The grey valley below:
All in one voice
they cry out to be warmed;
All in one voice
they cry out for the morning.
At last, light stirs, yawns and stretches
clipping only the highest peaks
the most desperate now relieved.
The cold, gathers and rushes to the new dawn
rushes over our backs
leaving a shiver in its wake.
1 comment:
Brian, thank you for posting this poem. Having just been in AZ and having driven past Sedona, I feel close to this poem. But what makes me feel closer to the poem is the way you describe the sun waking the rocks-the rocks crying out for the morning. The part about the highest peaks being the most desperate made me want to stretch my soul to the awakening light. But my favorite part is that about the cold gathering and rushing across your back leaving a shiver in it's wake. Except it was my back that the cold was rushing across. I have been in that place and your poem took me back and yet I was in a new place.
This is a great poem, in my humble opinion.
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