Rising Early

I did not know that the dew would be heavy

like bowls and mirrors hanging 

off the leaves, and leave me cold and cubed.

Or that the sun would burn round

on the horizon, copper and bronze, 

or sound like a gong from my center, somewhere close.

Or that the birds would hush 

and then sing again, faster, higher

or flash past in blues and whites, their gray-striped suits,

like strips of fabric in the wind.

I couldn't know until I woke up early enough,

pulled back the heavy lids, 

the covers like stone from a tomb,

and awakened to the new world,

presented myself to its throne and kneel, forehead soft.