(Stepping softly / into the morning / a blackbird calls / bandaged in silence / I weep – by Peter Wilkin )
Tears of awe
A momentary lapse within this perfect stillness
the silence of dawn broken open with daylight.
A soft breeze of an outward breath strokes
the dew coated fields, sending waves across
this chartreuse ocean landscape. Flowing manes
of grasses bow with gracefully synchronicity
carrying this moment in all its raw cut energy.
It does not pause for tiles, tarmac or concrete
passing ethereal unobserved beyond closed
doors and minds. Slipping silently into the waters
aquamarine tinted, topped with foaming heads
washing up onto the shore, turning pebbles
greenish-blue with glazed sunlight. Slowly rising
upwards in the milky morning mist, it whispers
onto the lowland hills below the southern star.
I stand inside my mother’s garden memory
listening to the song, a melodious fluted warble
perfectly low-pitched, sung with all the love
only living can bring. I can taste the saline
rivulets that are flowing from these tears.