But Another Aubade
Busy being born, my preparation vast
as pre-dawn darkness leaving in the East
I don’t have time for fear as day begins.
All I can do is fixate on a place—
there on the sky where I re-make myself.
Day does it for me; I am the small light
lifting the distant trees, then coming on
until, faster and faster, I arrive.
Sky, how did I become your cloudless blue,
your beauty no one asked for and its flaws
visible only when I look at me,
projecting my reflection on the world
as I did just now, seeing my face stare up
from the black depths of the Mississippi.
World, thank you for not answering my glance.
I’m happiest out here, lost in beauty.