Each dawn anew, each second fresh
as light intrudes upon the night,
and our dreams beneath the darkness,
running freely, picking paths
of possibility – we face each day,
uniquely. Gray pinto sky reminds
of Gino Sky somewhere in Idaho –
still wearing speedos, writing poetry?
His shiny airstreams hang upon
a necklace spread across mountains –
the land alive, the hatching and dying
we cannot escape – no day the same
on earth, as sunspots subside. Busy
Copernicus, setting us free of our
egocentricities to awaken in time.
drycrikjournal 