Appalachian Dawn

I have a passion to hold a lamp aloft, to capture one acre of starshine before the sun writes a new dawn. Rusting Chevys bloom in the half-light. Nightjars depart on shadow wings. Shimmering’s walk toward my window on silver slippers. A native mildness calls me out to the green hollows where poppies cling to secrets. I’ve a yen to lean like a greening barn that’s honeycombed with sky. The dew bathes, hills run with deer. The woods hold aloft their nocturnal dreams while the sky turns those to mist I am invited to be kin, to the verdigris of millstones, to the mist and blood of feuding legends, to the weather-worn secluded places where dirt roads end and life proclaims its right to be free.