Summer, rosy wakening


A gargantuan morning gapes at me,
wide-eyed and blue-skied.
It has showered in the last throes of dusk.

It has towelled down,
and its air
is tingling with wet freshness.

It drips crystalline light
through my bedroom window
on the rosy, wakening wall.

It pinkens my lids
and warmly
washes me to wakefulness.

And before that first thought
dawns and yawns and stretches
rehearsing the doings of the day,

I am given a view of the old Sun
flashing me its picture of youth.
Instamatic summer.

I carry a copy in my wallet of necessary feelings.

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