Gift of a Morning Heart
Nothing but morning sky in the middle,
Converged in the eastern, early morning August sky.
The poised–woman and greyhound–waited, watched
As golden light beams striped the blue above.
A heart on its side, a bit compressed, but open nonetheless
To shifting tints, rising hues, bursting auras.
Then–there–the first arch of glow tipped the inner rim,
Warming to its space.
There–then–gently pushed, slowly slid
Then sighed into settling as if to breathe,
I made it.