Early morning
The crisp stillness of
Just-before-daybreak,
When the fog clings
To the blades of grass,
An ephemeral blanket
Upon the slumbering earth,
Before it rises slowly
Into the waking light;
The boundary between
Earth and sky,
Night and day,
Dreams and reality...
All are a blur
In the silver haze.
It is where I wander
On my silent walks,
In the middle distance
Between reality
And the realm of dreams
Before the world awakes;
As I trail my hand
Into the misty veil,
What dreams could I collect
In the glittering dewdrops?
... And now, with diaphanous hands,
And the murmurs and yawns of birdsong,
It reaches upwards
With iridescent fingers...
To disappear with the night,
To return to the sun,
And be one with the sky
