Predawn May morn (waking beside you),
I was drawn by an ecstasy of birdsong
To gaze at the glow on the Eastern horizon
And learn the cause of the planet's turning.
It is not gears meshed with Ptolemy's spheres,
Nor Newton's choreography of gravity;
It is the call of birds--
A forcefield of sound at the edge of dawn
Circles the globe like a wave
Engages the sun and torques the earth along.
Then we were part of the song,
But now sounds November's bleak noise.
Lovers and dawnsingers disappear,
Withdraw their crescendoing joys.
The darkness palls, the cold stars stall,
This utter night could stay,
Unless we the remnant all gather and call
To mate our meridian with a new day.
Richard Krepski, PA, USA
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Notes on the Poet:
Richard Krepski is retired from a career as research scientist and educator. His poetry has appeared in Mobius, Tiferet, and JesusRadicals. His essay, "Center of the Universe", won the Tiferet writing award in 2009 and appeared in Issue 13 in 2010. Information on his book, Alchemical Gold--Exploring Substance to Realize Spirit, is available at:
substance-to-spirit.com
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