Alison Brackenbury’s short poem is the very thing for this first week of daylight savings time. It’s been awfully dark the past few mornings, and I was up a bit before the time she chooses as her title. Then again, I’ve only once in my adult life been in England in December; the lateness of the dawn was unbelievably dispiriting.
6:25
My day begins with darkness
Since I get up too soon.
Hung vast above the garage end
A brilliant moon
Ignores the morning radio,
White sea without an ebb
Freezes the lithe ash twigs
A glittered web.
The light is metal, deep and pure.
It is what Plato’s cave
Ached for, truth, the throb of power
His shadows gave.
It borrows from the animals
Snow of the owl’s wing
Flash of the badger’s white cheek, wet
From tunnelling.
Gleams slide from gutter, shed and slate,
The radio plays on.
I burn my toast. The east turns blue.
The moon has gone.
I really enjoy the poems you post. I’ve begun reading poetry again after a few years where I rarely did. Thanks!
I’m so glad. That’s why I started the “TSP” ritual in 2004, and am glad it introduced people to some good stuff.