A Whisper of Words

after Hopkins

Pointe-Claire and Beaconsfield, Montreal, Quebec — Photos by Jonathan Potter ⓒ 2024

The morning waits in a whisper of words.
It has said things, arousing a soft look;
It murmurs in a breathing, like a breeze that shook
Hushed. How can it then now not summon birds?
Aspirations of flocks and schools and herds;
Awaken all who sleep; take, shake your book
And tear its pages one by one: each nook
And hook now has no sky shield, torn in thirds.

With its first breath, morning has spoken things
That make the blackened blanket far flung dreams
Of night now cloudsoft gleams and churchbell rings
Arraying in my green grasp sunrise beams
Because the turning earth suddenly brings
Dawn's light through wide weave and through ah! torn seams.

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