When it's blue o'clock
in the morning,

predawn mist
thickens with bird-song:

geese honking their way

to the marsh lake,
where open stretches
of water still hold 

the evening stars

and ducks drifting among
cattails and lilies,

catching a squeem of fish
rippling up through dark water ...

the shoreline is alive
with herons and terns
and beyond the water's edge
kettles and eskers
drumlins and kames
and harrier, plover and coot

in that moment
a first burst of sunlight 

sluices through pines
stiffening in the wind

and we are like the lake
still mirroring the dimming stars

whispering welcome
to the light that has journeyed
so far to meet us.