Oh, do not give me sunrise
with day unbirthed,
its head thrusting between poles in conflict,
dawning of dismissal
from a brighter sphere
shrunk to oblivion
in the womb of night,
the sea's bloodbath gilded with promise

And do not give me sunrise
on teasing cusp
of an epiphany that cannot wax
amidst a galaxy
of solipsist worlds
whose ebbing heartbeats
crave untainted air
and epic rest and consummation

Oh, do not give me sunrise,
apprehensions
of things that might and mustn't come to grief,
tales of fair Avalon
unreached, and longings
withered to a fault
for want of nurture
in fallow field at season's sowing

Pray, do not give me sunrise
with ravelled skeins
of untold histories and mysteries,
designs untapestried,
to be single-stitched
by fumbling fingers
in taut laboured hours,
eyeless in Gaza and as a slave

But rather grant me sundown's laurels,
blood fire-consumed!
An Indian Summer of the senses,
spent flesh telling, spirit
hailing the far shore,
shuffling loose the coil
while mystic music
in surround sound shuns costly cadence

http://www.pilgrimrose.com

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