© 2002 Barbara Grace Lake

 

Molten, drenching, is the air
I breathe and feel
On waking in a morning
Joyous to myself;
Gone the worries blackening
The night
Their leaseholds lost as sunlight
Washes clean the air,
Reflecting only floating grains
Of lint and dust–
Sparkling threads upon a
Buoyant tapestry,
Enlivening dry musty
Lavenders of age,
Forgotten in a breath of
Personal enchantment:
Golden,
God-like,
Young,
On summer’s morn.