August Morning Sky


Roseate sheep crowded against eastern sky,

Waiting to be herded by morning into the horizon,

The sky was a splendor, rendering all existence in beauty.


But this tableau, this gift of morning, was dynamic,

Ever-changing, ever-shifting, ever-sliding,

Sheep morphing into bands, bands into lines,

Lines into pastel shards of gossamer beauty.


Soon, timed by earth’s great turning,

Sun revealed its glorious self,

Banishing sheep, chasing color,

Filling morning with its own fierce beauty.


--July 8, 2013