In the morning of our contemplation
we watch for the pale sky
on nothing but a seamless now.
We lose ourselves in the prayers of observation
where hibiscus petals unfurl nectar havens
waiting for bees,
and every blade of grass is felt under our feet.
The early sun is drawing us higher
where spirits merge with yours.
Lying on our backs we feel the earth
beneath,
but it is the sky drawing pictures of birds
whirling into breakfast,
it is the clouds with no hurry
that hold our attention.
And it is ourselves we find no longer jaded
created on a morning in Eden
so many years ago, breathed from clay
into life.
Jenneth Graser
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