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The Beginning MAG
the rooster crows
and in all my morning chaos
I don't stop to realize
there is no traffic
no deadlines
no duties
but to be
just be
and let the dew-kissed grass stick to my
bare feet
and the first buttery sunlight of the morning
clear and pure
warm my hair
and my clothes will smell of campfire smoke
as I move the rocks
from the fire
to the hole
and pour over them the lake water from a glass milk jug
the steam smells of summer
and so do the frogs
who sing us to sleep
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