MUTED MORNING
Abed upon the floor
next my sliding glass door
in order not to miss one moment
of the morning star from golden beginning
to effacement by the sun. Alas, dun curtain
of clouds refuses to lift and Venus is not unveiled.
The waves in paradiddle, subdued,
chant: learn a lesson from numinous
Venus, star that failed to show; you too
must on occasion dim your light ,
sometimes by disappearing all together,
at others, present but mute, listening with
receptive ears to what another has to say.
And when at last you do break through, hone
your lines in stately pavane and hide them in
a book, on a page, like pastel eggs waiting to be
found by innocent children on Resurrection morn.
April 5, 2003
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