this birdsong hour
when nightclad child
secure with bedtoy of the dark
ventures all alone
into the morning orchard of the dawn

this newfound hour
when sweethearts go to bed to sleep
and lovers wake in one anothers arms

this peaceful hour
with air so still and cold
that every breath is felt

this greystill hour
when aged man abandons sleepless bed
and dull unhsadowed hues
are nascent with
kaleidoscopic day

this solitary hour
resolved from night of twisting doubt
and convoluted lines of thought enmeshed

this timeless hour
potential with what might become
i know that i may write the words
yet never come to act the part