A breath

Ripples on the rim of an amber bowl

Water still, reflecting swaying azaleas

On the cusp of the breeze a loon calls

Lonely for its mate

Mournful in its low lamentations

The curtains rustle 

Coffee grows cold

Open windows at a crisp, cool dawn

The suns reticent rays

Banishing the stealing rearguard of night

Orange against the green of the pines

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