Clear dawn sky, tinge rim grows.
Late summer morn’s cool air blows.
Heaven’s full eye draws to its eastern rose,
its point in infant light that readies all its throws’
explosive exclamation of all that morning shows—
adored and worshipped, yearned, aspired for, God knows
how long, millennial spans beyond our time close
the questions we moderns ask and open us to a glow’s
blinding brightness, bend us prone within. Ohs!
ahs! molten our pose into the rising sun.