Waking Early, Utila
On the island there are mornings
when the outline of laundry on the porch,
shadows of banana trees,
flare jet against a sky banked
with flaming coals.
The next time you open
your eyes, moments later,
it has gentled, rose gold.
Then steel and white silver,
and if you stare long enough
the ocean appears,
a line of blue iron.
No comments:
Post a Comment