Church Of The First Light
Some still sleep
while owls on high branches
croon matins,
bassos in the dew-drunk
choir of cricket and frog,
contrapuntal burro
drenching in holy hubbub
the moon-tinged believer
in the pew by the window
too dazzled to dream
who testifies
to the conversion
of hills from silhouette
to madrone and oak,
the transfigured sky—
indigo, topaz, light-lavish
morning
glory.
©Lucy Aron, Bodega Land Trust, 2005
