Words For a Morning
The water wears a halo of mist
made gold by first light.
Two swans write their waking
on the soft glaze of a morning
as if tracing psalms
to anoint the coming day.
They bow their heads gracefully.
Clumsily, I bow mine.
I can almost feel each word
being transcribed across
the tightened surfaces of my mind.
I come to listen,
to hear something sacred
being said in a language
I cannot decipher.
It is agonizingly beautiful.
Why am I so afraid ?
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