#585 - three parts of the day

 

9.viii.21

585

2.220

three parts of the day

 

dawn is hardly a chorus

 

flickering wings of the first tree

where I am unseen

 

the works begin

with raising a sun

(no one knows whose)

often from pond or sea

 

so raucous!

each commands all the others at this

 

then lemons take to their branches for light

 

from chaos came such

 

webs of never before or again

 

no one can guess what’s next

 

and so the world invents

(or passive voice is better)

 

I believe that these things were all night dreamt

 

this so the play commence

dawn yet feathered to sing

 

 

 

 

 

I found the last sun

 

far in the afternoon

somewhere between appointed hours

who knew?

 

I stood back to that

casting a shadow

the day was all around

 

in treetop voices

in flocks of the random breeze

 

wallaby, swamp hen, ducks

for ponding, many more unseen

 

dogs and cows and chimney distance

unclouded each as other

you could hear petrol burning far off

 

and I, tracky daks, sloppy joe

caught that last sun on my scales

pond’s edge

(and mirksome, days from rain)

 

middle of my disappearance

where I was cast for shining yet

shielding where

somehow time had gathered

 

it had a hammock to itself

 

one bright day

will you come with me?

we won’t find that same sun again

but I’m sure another

one will come

 

you can’t walk round

eyes open here

and not see something new

 

 

 

 

spilled tanka

 

quarter past five

beginning of August

still light, fire outside

fire in a box

so the day retires