This morning wakes with melancholy.
Her hair teased across the sky,
pink, grays, blue hues,
in strands and tufts.
The moon smirks behind us
and hummingbirds shoot
through our middle world.
The drum circle of crickets yields
to the first sirens of crows,
and the last owl plays its bass note
Gazing out over
the curve and dip
of ridgeline, seeking the silhouettes
of early hunting coyotes
dotting the open hills
before her fire continues to rise.
And I sit, with the mystic song of coffee
rising up like incense.
Captured in the clear, cool, sweetness of air.
as a trail of sparrows flutters by.
copyright 2013, jennifer brinn