Light enough to see the cold in the sky,
the east with that mix of pink-blue
clouds that may be the clouds
of cold
the color beyond category,
the clarity chilling outside and in.
How can such a scene be seen
without seeing, at least somewhat,
inside ourselves?
We are dust and water
and air, blood -- that divine elixir
of life clearly points emphatically
here, emphatically there.
And now a little
more light arises, breaks, shows
not yet shinning
perhaps, as we mark atime,
an hour before the sun fully shows
itself.
That modesty of light I think about often.
-Byron Hoot
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