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Michael Bowlus

© 2003

Morning Song

My breath hangs in the brisk air
though I am not cold
the glow of the cobalt blue half light brings
warmth
vitality
renewal
like a wave of blue sunlight
piercing the blackness
illuminating the dark silhouettes
that stand firm in the blue ether
like the ghosts of slain soldiers
these slender oaks are black shadows
standing bare
branches grasping
like long dark fingers
outstretched in the shimmering air
the blue glow slowly breathing life
into these cold statues of winter
the wind whispers -
they are awake
no longer mere passing spirits
navigating some netherworld
in a moment they are transformed
standing tall, full of life, ethereal
like gods on mount olympus
ready to act out a human drama of life and death
but there is only calm silence,
a solitude like smooth lake water at dusk
not a ripple visible
only the reflection of moon and stars
no sound but my own breath
heavens, trees, wind - blue, alive, breathing
then somehow, they sing out in the same soft voice
without words -
before words
the sublime music of silence delivers
hope
harmony
truth
a timeless song revealing
an unmistakable oneness
and the elysian tune slowly fades away
as the constructs of time and language
and the human drama
veil the still melody