At dawn, fog sleeping in the trees
holds captive dimming street lights,
fireflies caught in its ethereal web.
Gaping new moon yawns her stars to bed
beneath the creeping blanket of day.
Commuters still haven’t grumbled
from their beds, but we began our job
an hour ago. The river never sleeps,
not even under winter’s ice, so we dutifully set
our paper sails upon its whispering rills.
We know breezy shadows will deliver
bright thoughts of day, of love, of life,
upon our harboring doorstep.
This is our time, my mind’s pen and I,
and our workday is almost over.
– Joseph Hesch (A Thing for Words)
© 2014, poem and photograph, Joseph Hesch, All rights reserved