Pink again; doesn't the sun realize
it isn't time? According to the automatic
clock in my computer (not the one
in my kitchen,
which apparently got
ahead of itself,
somehow, in the night)
it's only 6 am.
The moon knows -- she’s still hanging in the trees,
waiting for the branches
to lower her to the
sea but they're
confused: it's hard to pick her out
when the sky's
so light, so early,
and what if they forget and leave her hanging there,
resting in the eagle's nest,
vulnerable to his claws
should he return
and find her there, cluttering
his space --
oh, wait, I see her slide into the sea,
all pink with effort to escape and yet
still fading,
overpowered by the dawn...
