Twenty thousand dawns - Apollo Bay
Counting the days of my years, I regret
I've missed maybe twenty thousand dawnings;
new day’s greetings, gratitude’s golden debts.
rosy fingers, pink tufts, shepherd's warnings.
Mind you, often I've been up for the ghost
of the night shrinking from jagged groundscapes,
lost to routines: shower, coffee and toast,
slept through, unseen as our household awakes,
Life lived, full tilt, as it should be – perhaps?
This dawn's hiding as I look out to sea,
to the east, ocean and sky overlaps,
There's no partition where daylight should be...
It's showing me something; a faint comprehend,
an animal instinct - my days at their end.
I've missed maybe twenty thousand dawnings;
new day’s greetings, gratitude’s golden debts.
rosy fingers, pink tufts, shepherd's warnings.
Mind you, often I've been up for the ghost
of the night shrinking from jagged groundscapes,
lost to routines: shower, coffee and toast,
slept through, unseen as our household awakes,
Life lived, full tilt, as it should be – perhaps?
This dawn's hiding as I look out to sea,
to the east, ocean and sky overlaps,
There's no partition where daylight should be...
It's showing me something; a faint comprehend,
an animal instinct - my days at their end.
[Sonnet from a collection by S.C.N. Pockley]
(CC) reserved by Simon Pockley
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