in bone chill dead of night
salt of hope
catches upon a shivver
far, far easterly
glows the glimpse of promise
pleasing of mindseye
stirring of heart
oh that these final
frozen hours shall pass
and haunt of amber
neath far distant cloud
bring forth majestic
heat of life and light
laden trees
of lofty feather
readily speak in song
of expectant rejoice
catching mauves blending
to pink ribboned strata
painting the soft
purpled velvet underbelly
of a sky - heavy in its
pregnant anticipation -
with dunes of golden edged
burnt pink lustrous glory
casting wakeful hue
elevating landheld darkness
into a mystery
of luminous mistings
each and all awaiting
the first shock brilliance
of Sol the exhalted