I am still on the dark side of the earth
but the monks of darkness have begun
shedding their robes underneath the trees.
Canopies of black.
Layers, stages, stories, bodies.
Thunder rumbles all the glass in the house.
A pinch of rain.
The Mourning Dove calls.
Cloud mountains
move in perfect silence,
sailing high above the watery blue
at the edge of morning.
And here it comes,
filled with golden light,
and songs and cool air.
How amazing
that we can grow new eyes
after so much darkness.
.
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