Steven Brown

Morning Auguries

 

It is fortunate that we have woken
early, that the neighbor's dog is underneath
the shed asleep, that the mower's broken
blade is still broken, the finch's bath
full of last night's flood, the street as well.
The sun has scattered pennies on the mud.

And if it's nothing more than spells
of earth and sky and bird, the mood
of luminous belts long after the day's rough
light has been doused, and all have gone
to sleep except for us, then let this brief
waking of our love merge us into stone—

one more rune, one more serendipitous
change together, a loom of blue aster
mingled with our bones, a simple tress
of blade and bloom rejecting our disaster.