Pre-dawn on the Caprock
Is a flat, even line of horizon
Appearing out of the night –
A solitary stroke to indicate a mouth.
Slowly earth and sky
Unpurse their lips;
Muscles slacken to reveal
The subtle shades of rose
As the sun approaches its entrance.
Hidden light washes
Away stars with the glisten
That perspires from dreams.
Then a golden bubble
Emerges from that mouth
And floats into the morning.
Unable to be sad for long,
This blue child smiles.
A Picasso Morning
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