At First Light
The hidden sun, who messages the dawn,
sings a song that stirs the sleeping dove.
Awakening geese call forth for the sun to lift.
A dance of dawning begins to play.
Skirted girls, and a paper boy
wrapped in canvas cloth and a cardinals cap;
wave as they seek their destinations.
Do you ever stand in the midst of such dance,
to wonder if your mother listens for geese?
Does dawn still come to her beyond this place?
Does she know that you come here most every morning
to beg thanks for breath? To remember; to forget?