Streaks of crimson
Edged in twilight
Hover like long
Quiet javelins above
Dusty afterthought clouds
Shadow fresh skies
A far-off burning
Begins to glow
Above the treeline
As jagged canopies
Like reaching fingers
Tickle the dawn
Making it blush
Red braking cateyes
Turn white in
The turn about
Startled by mistake
It is quiet
Here like cemeteries
Except for the
Lone peeping of
One lonely grouse
Morning now here
HARLAN DIDRICKSON 