There is only the soft-flesh sky, the cut of the waning moon ornamenting dawn’s collar-bones. That tender place, where morning pulses.
Tag Archives: dawn
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The night gives preeminent requiem, dawn a dependable resurrection. Tonight shadows shelter the neighborhood, like soil around a seed.
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The moon’s silver-edged belly fades as the sky grows gray. She hung like an omen from the trees; now she’s wan as an old scar.
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The long mountain valley is still mostly dark, the faint reflection of the yet-unarrived-sun off the snow like a premonition, or deja vu.
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A morning dark as dusk. Storefronts spilling light are intimate to us, little electric dawns. We congregate along their horizons, blinking.
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Someone pressed a thumbnail against the dawn’s indigo flesh: the day’s gold bleeds through the crescent wound.
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4 a.m. Mars shines behind the silhouettes of trees like a wandering lamp. Perhaps he flees Dawn, and her extinguishment of all lesser lights.