Out of the morning,
as the sun eclipses
the shadows
chasing the birth
of Morning light,
are a thousand letters
thrown,
in handfuls
across the horizon,
in flickers
of wings,
and tremulous calls
to fly,
a rush,
of starlings
and swallows,
spin,
dart
and dash,
in the shimmering blue,
of dawning skies.
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p1964km@googlemail.com
