Morning Poem by David Johnson

Early morning dew licks lavender lilies,
and they shine like purple wet tongues in the mornings first glow.

The heavy cloth of night has been lifted from the hills by a man on stilts, folded and layed behind.

A black mess of yarn is untangled from tree branches high, high above.

A solid black has vanished from the pond without a trace.

Such perfect timing...

Then...

a ray, a laser beam of hope lasooing darkness
and herding it to the hills until tomorrow,
when the cloth is unfolded and
dropped again.