After Poem by Suzy Jay

I wait the morning.
The light that robs me of night.
Its stealth, creeping uphill,
entering private space
relinquishing intimacy,
quietness, flooding it
with a cresciendo of trumpet,
the chorus of dawn.

Of white clouds
filled with words
and horns and promises.

The street people have
eyes of birds
and, whilst nested,
watch boxes with
images of burnt cornfields
and children running,
screaming, ablaze.

They listen to the trilling
soprano of massacre
and base notes of kaleshnikovs
showering and soaking themselves,
lathering each other
with the fat of pigs,
preparing for their tomorrow.

I await the morning light,
a celestial dawn,
to hear a white cloud,
to see nothing but softness,
to feel saturated in love,
to exhale adoration,
to sing with sparrows.

To sing with sparrows,
to touch a meaning,
to kiss the open mouth
of sweet succulent air,

to allow the dawn to enter me.