Here in the gray light of dawn
I see you, gentle and tender,
approaching us
and I am in wonder
thinking of my ignorant and obstinate species
and curious about why you keep coming back to us
you beautiful being
each morning and twilight.

My deep sleep dreams disturb
confuse and trouble my mind,
but awake here and now I find
the placid lake of your presence
and abide in your uncanny arrival.

I never cease to wonder
At the dawning
Of the
Sun

His
Glory, bright –
The Mercy-Light –
It leaves my heart undone

.

I feel you easing into me
occupying thin layer
upon thin layer of my soul
and I occasionally notice
a smidgen of joy rising
as if first light was dawning.

But this is not first light
for it has been accruing
like silt in the river delta
depositing fertile soil
for an emergent growth.

Just a simple girl with a simple heart
Trying to hold the pieces of the morning together
So that they do not fall apart.

The way the ocher light filters through
The bare limbs of early spring
And casts a faint glow upon the hardwood floor
Where my cat curls into herself and sleeps
And the steam lifts from my coffee cup
And the distant highway purrs.

Ridges thick with pines line the horizon
And somewhere a northern train trundles the endless tracks,
Sings into the wide, Dakota sky
And calls the dwindling stars out to die against the light of dawn.

I hold my own
Here in this western valley where these reckless dreams are reborn,
Laptop open, words upon the page,
Three little children not yet awake.

Will I keep them safe

If I speak these truths into the emergence of the sun,

If I spill this simple love across a blank slate?

When besieged by the
sweeping tides of time

The evanescent of your presence
Has been preserved
In the fortitude
Of my mind
And begins to bloom in
The moment of ecstasies

I have savoured
The sweetness
Of you

That the tongue
Whispers
Unto unknown realms

That I may
****** destiny
To surrender
Her will

To the
Dawning
Of new
Beginnings

Being in first light
I can see lamps lit
and the clouds strewn across the gray dawn.
From the east
the sun whispers greetings
of the new day.

Being in first light
I wonder what faces I will see for the first time
whose hand I will see reaching out to mine
that first grip always telling me something
about the gripper
making me curious
about him and his world.

Being in first light
the western horizon is still dark
its terrain unknown.
What adventures will reveal themselves
and beckon me beyond the barriers
of my comfortable world
as the sun rises?

Being in first light
neither foreground or background
are fully visible yet.
This state of mystery
gives me a tingle of excitement
and wonder.

I think I like
this moment
of first light.

Written at first light 7-20-18

(Secret Place)
(love poem# 2)


There's a very special place i know.....so calm,
so peaceful, with its Caribbean blue sky,
made bluer by light orange streaks...nearby,
a stream of silver water, flows gently...its tune
relaxes the mind, for, simultaneously, a breeze
blows softly...touches my face, arms, like a kiss,
a cold brush against my skin, that wakes, and
holds still, my wandering mind.....so i'd notice a
heavenly garden....with fragrant blossoms and
tamed colors, to soothe my weary eyes, my soul...
it is a haven so private...only for me, to go to...
yet... i see you there...where i hide my dreams,
my private feelings, my dark moments, my doubts,
my fears, my enlightened moments, you know them
all, spot on...without me telling you...we are mates,
you, me, we fit into place, in every space...even in the
small recesses, and holes of our souls, we silently agree,
doors i have long closed...feelings i've tossed in the dark,
you sensed them all............we...are two hands clasped...

this has become our secret haven, our sacred place,
here, where we surrender ourselves to each other,
here, where we share quiet moments all alone,
here, where started, and bloomed...a dawning,
here, where, all our eyes, all our hearts longed for,
we now behold....we now feel....we now embrace...


Sally


Copyright February 4, 2017
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

My hair is an untameable wave that cascades
down my back and is an even flowing river that drapes
onto my shoulder blades and biceps.

As I sit in the swivel chair waiting for the scissors to
shear off the last dead ends, I think of you.
With these ends, you'll be disappearing, too.

You haven't touched me in over two years, now.
As wisps of hair drop off onto the tile below my feet,
I can be rest assured that a new beginning has dawned.

Serenity.
Soft velvet that is not comparable.
Singing, a babbling brook.
Sweet music.

Calming.
Calamities haven't happened.
Caressing, a new potential.
Carry no burden.

Peaceful.
Pleasant and sweet reminder.
Pastries melting on your tongue.
Past is lost.

Dawning.
Drawing ever near.
Deliberately wishing.
Dancing to the music.