—from Edge of the Echo

Night lingers.
A silver-spotted skipper skims the window
where my lamp beckons – a tiny sun.
Moth moon cradles the cedars,
branches stroking dawn’s purple skirt.
The crickets’ cadence, the dove’s sad song wane,
pink fingers spreading the sky –
light discovers a fawn, a splintered swing.
Morning’s heartbeat a mystery,
Unfolding as stars dissolve,
a mockingbird flirting with fallen figs…