When the new dawn opens to a newer morn

I look for the peach tinted golden fabric,

jacquarded with flakes of shimmering clouds,

Sunkissed and still splashed with dabs of grey rain threads, out of earshot, thunder rumbling loud,

I look for little parentheses cupping bird songs flapping in the morning air,

Hazy, yet lit, daring to fly against the hilly breeze and I stop and stare,

I look for blossoms that speak of waiting in line quietly,

Biding their time, sipping earthly wine of terracotta slush, slowly, deliberately,

I look for clean streets sans debris of bad choices idling around,

Taking away the mute thunder of fallen leaves embellishing the moist dewy ground,

I look for patches of blue through the tapestry of ruffled up foliage,

That bantered with zephyrs which carried stories of global carnage,

While leaves shuddered in fright and still giggled away knowing time doesn’t stand still,

Every desert brews its oasis, every dry wellsprings, every ocean has its fill,

And the branches strum the fresh dawn gusts saying ” everything must pass” while dark has turned to light,

While new tunes are born in the beaks of songbirds their little hearts bursting in delight,

I look for all of this and more as I nod to masked strangers hiding their smile,

For I breathe in hope that isolation is done pushing my luck through a stubborn turnstile,

That stands like a bouncer impeding a poem that waits to be born,

Echoing sonnets and ballads of a world that once was, now when the new dawn opens to a newer morn.