Saturday, January 26, 2013

the shriek of breaking day 
after Percy Byshe Shelley's 
The Call of the Open

when whiff and color part
days are wan and tired
when morning dew affronts
a far north wild and wired
the fortitude of frost
a pink sun's glow collides
spare whispers flutter pillows
dark areolas meet
a rising pinch of heaven
in one essential sun
The Call of the Open

by Percy Bysshe Shelley

Which yet joined not scent to hue,     
Crown the pale year weak and new;
When the night is left behind
In the deep east, dun and blind,
And the blue noon is over us,
And the multitudinous
Billows murmur at our feet,
Where the earth and ocean meet,
And all things seem only one
In the universal sun.

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