When the night retreats
Curling back over the mountain
Slipping soft to shadow in the wood
Inking down into the bottom of the hour
When the golden moon trembles
Like a fading tambourine
And a wing of gossamer cloud
Streaks the heart of morning with a prayer
When a promise
Pries beneath the lidded world
Pouring lava through the hills and
Silvering the stream
When this is how we begin
There can be no dismal end
Sara Mathews March 2018
Ingrid Mathews photography
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