Owls’ calls have abandoned me
            Delicate sounds before first light
            Betray only the restlessness of small birds
            In this lull before the water
            Claims its color from the emerging horizon
            Each wing beat of the descending teal
            Reaches me whole and discrete
            Solid in the dark as the ground under me
            The landing splashes fix newcomers
            In my memory of the lake shore
            The feeding call of mallards draws
            Their dark outlines on my believing eyes
            Lit only by the promise of winter sunrise

        

Copyright © Cy Dillon, 2002.  All Rights Reserved.