Aubade

Aubade

Odilon Redon, Flowers

Star-birds murmur
with ancient light-breath, and if

they drop a seed–or two—
a rustle in the quiet night
between cycles of moon-song,

it is the thing you almost-saw—but

the flowers are there at bird-dawn

blooming,
magical, something like love.

There are terrible things happening in the world, but I went walking on a beautiful spring morning, and the Oracle saw that, too.

28 thoughts on “Aubade

  1. This could be any morning here too. The natural world rustles, drops a seed where it’s needed, and does what it has to do, regardless.
    I wrote my poem yesterday but didn’t get around to posting it. You’ll find yourself in the first stanza. Who says the Oracle isn’t always listening?

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.