Sunrise paints a glorious rosy burst
outside my window so it’s camera first
and rhymes follow as it fades. Ducks waddle
through shore grasses as starstruck I dawdle.
This throng of spirit messengers: bluebirds’
brilliant plumage muted in dawn’s light; words
pin perceptions to past. Being outlasts
and sweeps away the stories with a blast.
I have no namesake to be molded by
some careless false history. See the sky
in constant change, each feathered mystery
delivering the key to liberty.