Breath of Morning



The day before the sun came,

I made a fresh breath of knowing.


The cooled fiery jewels of a time long lost,

facing the odds against us and arising reborn triumphant.


A feather trickles silently amongst forevers,

a squark a chime and yawp in the bellows before us.


Remnants reassembled in beatific heart-racing timelessness,

the drip drip drop along the hardened soft branchy lofts.


Slowly beckoning up the bright timid new day,

and conducting of the stars to calm their charges.


A damp heavy cloak thrown over my shoulders,

leads me back to the camp of my own kind.


Lend me a single hand or mouthful,

before morning’s jaws release me.


And let the shadowy sorrow of night,

gently fall and be gone.


Greg Fiddament
Illustration Nick Victor


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