The wandering rise of morning light
Mingles in and through the crowns
Of oak and elm like broken speech.
The halting of a haunting while
This day breaks into pieces on the ground.
Light falling all around, resting on
Seemingly impenetrable surfaces.
Leave lie its’ yellow demure as it lay
in silent reflective yawns.
“Come. Recline. Bathe in my pouring.
Light loads I give you stretched
In Sabbath shine.”