A cautious sheath, awkward
the mask as moist as the grass
with dew, marks the eye of dawn.
Gray sulking streams run across
the merchants window carrying night
into the growing shadows sounds burn
in gamma sleep activity
and become apparent.
Salt meteors light
and is a brother to the roving lid across our planet.
Caught quietly flowing over in ripples of blue atmosphere
she stalks the night,
unaware her presence has generated a fleeing
she trembles awake.
Me, you void of being
stare at the eye of dawn--
in her half she has no claws
no adhesive entrapment,
and leaving is absurd.
Day in on.
Broken I am returned to myself.
Such are my feet on the wet grass
in the dawn of the summer solstice.