Golden Morning

i.

When mountains,
in unison, carry

the sun on their shoulders

only then
is there

a golden morning.

ii.

Shafts of sunlight

penetrate
the dark woods—

here,
on this exotic Earth,

Nature’s 
kaleidoscopic brush

paints the canvas: such
magic!

iii.

Everything’s
psychedelic.

The birds
chirping,
rivulets
burbling,
the breeze
combing,
butterflies
fluttering,
in love with this
young light.

I breathe in
the wild
sweet
fragrance. 

iv.

Such a veil

transects the ashen
village

far below
where my folks live

surrounded by these
creped, giant hills

and a river
monster . . .

with no road
to the Capital.

**

(With edits from Diane Smith of Grey Sparrow)