Photo credit unknown Internet source. (Please let me know if it is yours.)
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.
