an old poem (published in Way Stations : Poems 1985-1997)


Breeze



A city before sunrise
hovers in the cool air,
under the modest arch
of early blue sky-

a dry honeycomb,
a gray wasp's nest,
hung on the limb
of some buried river.

Soon these streets
will swarm with faces,
laws and lawlessness
and careless artifice;

but dawn is simple,
native to earth, sky;
a sea-salt breeze
at the bedroom window.