Morning, Royal

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Morning, royal

the finest time of day.   

Sitting at my work,

I watch and wait

for the world to show her

magic: trees not trees

and then, they are.

Looking from my book,

already I see leaves

now greenish,

in the time to form these words, 

now golden glow.

Alchemy: darkness into leaden grey to gold.

Above the hills, azure sky.

Time for me, too, to turn,

my finer self dissolved by morning light, 

into baser things:

earth and air to

breath and blood.

Transmuted in the dark,

I turn, return, to clay 

in brighter light of day.