Aubade

I.

Through the window, what light gives
new meaning in the day. Ultramarine 

waters turned blue green, live 
oak leaves lightened, shaken awake, 

a south wind combing the Spanish moss
and carrying clouds ashore: altocumulus 

castellanus, gathered overnight, 
formed from the mortar of the sea—

first signs of weather
that would paint the sunrise stone.

II.

But now, twilight, final                       hour of possum 
and lunatic flowers.                             Somnolence of stars. 

The moon stretches                             its shape 
over the wide sea,                                coyly, as a lover

having thrown off the sheets.           Wave 
sounds mask sounds                           of breathing—

void                                                        the mind preemptively fills.
From the last                                        soft light before sunrise,

two bluebirds                                       light on a power line.
Electricity                                             passes between them.