A poem

If I could take a photo with my eyes
I’d shoot the morning skies.
What I have snapped between these lashes;
cerulean hues
and golden flashes
on the underside of a sparrows’ wings
as she dashes
from her nest and sings
the prologue for the day.
I have captured it
in my wide-eyed way.

The dew sits in its earthy pews,
sedately waiting,
for the sun to come up,
into view.
The moon lurks sheepishly
above us all,
self-consciously she shines.
She knows her act is over,
yet she sits up there so white, so high.
I watch her pussyfoot away:
she bows out
she has had her time.

The clouds, like cherub’s cheeks,
so soft and pink,
begin to stir,
shift in their seats,
changing their costumes every time I blink.
And then, she’s here!
Our star.
She gathers up her hazy skirts,
takes to the stage, and
lights up the sky.
The heliotropes stare,
blushing, as — like soufflé —
mist begins to rise.

En masse, in an ovation
for the sun’s exuberant performance,
clouds and dew and colours
They’re rendered by my eyes,
This gift;
this morning,
through my own two lenses.
But I’ve only words
to now transmit the image
to your senses.

Watch a performance of this poem on IGTV

Wordsmith . Storyteller . Poet . Collaborator . Listens to what human hearts are whispering and sings it out loud. Supporter of start-ups. IG: @amyknightwriter

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