By Erwin Wiens
before the first graying of dawn,
the darkest hour.
Thrushes, then jays, gulls, warblers,
and all fourteen varieties of sparrows,
of chirps and caws and incoherent trills.
And it works.
A crack opens at the edge of the earth
and the dark begins to pale.
And yes, there it is! A thin, shimmering arc,
breaching a gap in the red horizon.
Now sing, you feathered fools, sing, sing,
and louder sing for every fibre in your puny breasts.
Yes, yes, here it comes, the whole flaming orb
buoyed upon a wave of weightless song.
Now they can relax, and turn their minds
to worms and fuzzy things with seeds.
Reprinted with permission.
Erwin Wiens is a Sandy Hill poet who is part of a circle of writers meeting on or near the University of Ottawa. This poem appears in Bridges: An Ottawa Anthology. The public access e-edition can be accessed at: www.fridaycircle.uottawa.ca/bridges/cover.html. Print copies may be ordered from Ronald P. Frye & Co.: