h1

hands of morning

March 16, 2009

early morning fog swirls around
gently caressing, soft fingers of moisture

a runner against the gray light
silhouette. feet never meeting the ground
silently
but for the breath of easy exertion.

Black glassy water lies on the
Wet, sandy earth
visible only at the bottom of the whiteness
Salt air mixed with the chill of
The sky.

the runner glides by
vanishing.
replaced by glass water
wet sandy earth
chill sky

grasped and drawn in
to the hands of morning

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2 comments

  1. I love this poem… it transported me to early-morning tidepooling at Seal Rock, Oregon. Wish I were there now.


  2. I like this a lot…looking forward to the next one 🙂



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