Dawn

Beyond the purple moving cloud
there must be a rim of gold
where the light spills like water
over the edge of the world

and all the sky bursts open
in streaks of azure, gold and
white, where the music of the
spheres mingle with the Angels'
voices into one clear crescendo:
O perfect sound.

Down here on the ground, all is
dark, and the mass of slow-
moving cloud is sombre;
street lights are still on.

But now and then as the clouds
re-form, a small space opens
and a light blue hope beams
there, as if from another world
another place.

I send blessings to the solitary early
cars as they head to the town.

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