Reaching for Dawn

The shades of dawn

falling like colorful feathers

plucked from the sky.

Sorrow, a distant friend with

sodden shoulder and sturdy

pose, no longer needed.

In hand, a timetable of

misbegotten deeds, to be

dispersed to the four winds.

The song was sung long ago.

The echo still remains, of

voices faint and far off.

I do not know the words.

Climbing the mountain,

altitude unknown, oxygen

thin as a noon shadow.

The pinnacle appears.

Breathing in the clouds,

focus begins to dim.

Past fading into the future, as

The dawn now turns into pure gold.

The summit is within reach.