angle of dawn light on the dark green trees
pallor deepening in the morning sky
a shadow's the last thing the slow eye sees
angle of dawn light on the dark green trees
leaves all unmoving in the absent breeze
no bird or moth is right now passing by
angle of dawn light on the dark green trees
pallor deepening in the morning sky
history is each of us all unknown
generations seem to come and to go
we would not think to dare to pause the flow
from each of us comes a luminous cone
our hearts are bleeding meat they are not stone
each of our lives seems ordinary slow
but others come all lacking what we know
we've come to be much closer to the bone
i've walked with some now names in a dry book
and thought each nothing more than an old friend
and now like gutted candles they've gone out
i cannot now go back for one last look
stories i've learned must all come to an end
and what remains is little more than doubt
once was a stream that down the valley ran
now choked with concrete and filled in with soil
still there are signs of natures unhelped toil
throughout the day we distant prospects scan
for what might be under some hoped-for ban
a place far from the normal human coil
of pains and troubles harsh noises and broils
untouched as yet by the hard foot of man
steams rise and swirl above the heated earth
we walk outside and cook in the great heat
but cannot pause or speak of lacking zest
for all the things that we must bring to birth
each of us listens for the great wings' beat
and hopes that we will not yet have to rest
