First Light

First light. What
frequency is it, what waveform
is it; none of us here know.

It is a mystery, a puzzlement.
It leaves us breathless and wondering
and occasionally afraid. Then
we shrug it off and go back to
where we were moments
before first light.

Glorious moments — the darkness
infecting all with comfort before
the plunge into daylight.

A car comes by
and stabs us awake with headlights
and old guitars and drums, a piercing voice.
At first light it’s not enough to comfort us.

First light, not enough yet to calm us down.
Will now our bodies down, down; make now
a pallet on your floor for us. Make us
instruments of peace, peace in a time before
war begins.

We don’t know where that voice comes from.
Maybe it’s just dread pleading
for a tranquil moment.

All I know is that I need to get inside
where it’s temporarily warm; to sit down
and close my eyes and pretend I’ve seen nothing
again. Yet. Still. Pretend it’s nothing.
It was nothing before I went outside at first light.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
onward,
T