Before the birth of dawn

Late last night

Under covers – down,

joined by the purring

At my feet

Acting out something

I cannot remember now

From fluttering eyelids and

Speech that sounds like snoring…

I swear I don’t snore 😉 .

Perhaps as the blood red

Alarm clock glowed,

And as ticks, sighs,

groans of our

Restless house

Wound itself into

The arms of early

morning.  The clouds

In the birthing

Room of another

Brood of sunrise

Yet just before

The final ‘push’,

The last cry of

Nightfall’s curtain


Of miles away bursting

Through the Rockies

Days before its

Winter’s lips

Kissed frosted earth

Bending spruce and ferns

Into a deep embrace

Only to pick up again

Skirting the Black hills

And Lincoln’s chin

Rushing on down

towards the mighty

Mississippi, as ice bergs

Smaller than those that

took down the titanic

Weave their way into

The heart’s arteries of


As it touches down once

again, the mighty river

ebbs to the beckoning call…

back in our home

still sorting out visions

with eyes clasp shut

It rushes down onto our

our creaking home…

Its winter’s clutch

testing storm windows

pushing at the screen door

somewhere deep inside


Dorothy Gale tries to click her

heels, as Toto barks on…

it happens quickly,

yet Oz doesn’t come into


the birthing room announces

another fire branded day

is here…both Lincoln’s chin

and the mighty Mississippi

breathes collective sighs of relief

as the cries of a new born day


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