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Tag: alba

The Sleeper: alba (aubade)

Published on April 13, 2025

A tiny bit of light seeps in along the sofa’s edge;
into the folds of fuzzy blankets shadows flee,
as the first dappled warm begins its creep
against the surface of her sleeping face.

In that sweet peace, that place of still,
I sit and watch her soft and quiet breath,
afraid to move and bruise the calm
that fills the room in that brief time.

In all these years we’ve spent this way
the wonder of it doesn’t cease:
that she would spend that time with me,
is sometimes, far beyond belief.

And yet, each dawn comes in anew;
I welcome it each day.
There’s not a thing that I would shift
or change in any way.

10 APR 2025

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At Dawn: alba or aubade

Published on January 5, 2017

At dawn
the mist still lingers on the lawn:
the shortening shade, like Avalon,
seeks wisps of cloud to linger on
but soon surrenders, and is gone.

At dawn
the world, by inches, cracks its eyes:
and in the place of lullabies
begins to sound the hue and cry,
its hustle-bustle of disguise.

At dawn
the sweet and tender touch of light
begins the slow ascent of sight
and sends to shadows, warm and bright,
the last reminders of the night.

At dawn
again, I hear the sigh
of breathing, gentle and nearby,
and thank the earth and sea and sky
for life and love and you and I.

05 JAN 2017

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The Sound of Her: an alba or aubade

Published on November 5, 2010

Below the quiet hum the waking world makes
as earth turns slowly sun-ward each new day,
before the civil bustle starts in earnest
and clutters the ear’s palette with its play,

in those few silent moments, as I lay still
beside her sleeping form, just listening
in awe to the low murmur of her breathing,
I hear the universe begin and end.

Not much, nor of much weight, these precious seconds;
and yet, to me their worth is beyond price:
what mere religion claims to be worth worship,
what lesser dreams enshrine as paradise.

05 NOV 2010

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Arise, New Day

Published on December 13, 2008

Arise, new day, your way much like the last,
one footstep forward further from the past;
and in your wake leave only settling dust
that would try to preserve because it must,
or else subside to shadows that soon fade
as from their brittle bones new day is made.

Arise, new day, your time has surely come!

Your heartbeat echoes last night’s funeral drum,
and pulses with the force of health and light
along the pale horizon, left to right.

Arise, new day, waste not a single breath;
lest you, too, slip complacent into death.

12 DEC 2008

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No Surprise This Morning: an alba or aubade

Published on August 4, 2006

That morning comes again is no surprise;
the laws of physics have not been withheld,
nor has the motion of the planets, if
those laws are merely whims, been held at bay.
No vengeful demons or vain deities
have paused the world in darkness for their play.

No, the edge of space where I sit has again
been turned and tilted to its burning star;
while elsewhere on the globe, lights flicker out
and someone borrows my fear of the night
(which is not trepidation of mere dark,
but rather, the unknown outside the cave
[or box, as we prefer to call it now,
since we are civilized a thousand-fold]
that waits for us, like some divine pop quiz
on that damned chapter we forgot to read).

So, morning comes again; and every time,
despite all evidence to prove it will,
and though our own experience and sense
would tend to ease our worry on this tack,
yet we stand dumb still, starstruck at the sight,
in shock that our blind faith
caused it to be.

04 AUG 2006

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A Different Sunrise: an alba

Published on October 14, 2005

What light may break through the scrub trees
that line the well-groomed yard at dawn
is thin and pale, its weight degrees
less than it when it lingers on

the lower depths, the southern end,
below the Orleans waterline;
there it hangs and drips with fat
and heavy water in the pines

and live oaks. Yet it brings the day
on the same time clock. Newton claimed
that mass does not affect the way
a thing responds; its strength is tamed

by gravity, that evens out
the superficial and the deep.
I, though, with Einstein, have my doubts,
while watching as new sunsets creep,

some like a lion, others meek,
with peacock’s plumes, or subtle shades;
some like a corpse, that dares not speak;
a few like boisterous parades.

What insights in an hour’s time
the rare observer gains, are lost
once that same sun completes its climb
and burns away both death, and frost.

14 OCT 2005

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And Still Another: a alba or aubade

Published on April 1, 2004

Before the first ray of morning sun comes
over the muttering lips of the sleeping world
(like the last soft warm breath of a restful sleep
is released from the tight grasp of that little death)

and there are not yet schedules to be met,
children to be shuffled off sullenly to school,
arrangements to be made, broken and remade,
the drudgery of household chores still untackled,

I listen in that dark and peaceful lull
to the gentle sound of her breathing next to me,
warm and serene under the sheets and blankets,
cocooned like a butterfly, just dreaming of flight.

31 MAR 2004

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