The sun will soon break over freeway wall
and scatter shadows near my city place.
Bold leaves fly here and there, or they may fall
in rainy puddles that reflect my face.
I see the signs of life in patient trees;
I sense their joy; they tremble in the wind.
They wait; a quiet nun’s expectancy.
Mysterious; this circling is their friend.
There is an order to returning morn
before man’s curse comes screaming into day.
The dove will mutter to his mate, reborn;
soft, muted sounds of silent nature’s sway.
So sacred is this space before the light;
before the circle breaks the dying night.