Monday, September 1, 2008

In the Ivory Morning

In the ivory morning a fluent breeze

plays the green leaves, tremulous

beneath the cool touch, pianissimo.


Like the last blue note of a prelude

delicately fading as the ear strains,

a thin moon hangs in the breaking sky.


Applaud the fragile arrangement,

the world's measured movement—

exquisite, aching, as the end of music.

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