A Friday Morning

In the smallest hours
Between light and dark,
The rain falls in grey touches
Making sounds like young tumbling lovers
On roof tops.
All too soon,
The moon-struck day emerges
Behind yesterday’s sombreness and
Considering daylight,
Cocks scream their vendetta accusations with
Knife yellow sharpness.
Do we suffer dogs forever?
An all night chorus winding down
With the musical breakfast of green birds.
A gecko chatters in the rafters
Of storm battered ceilings—silvered
Tones shlicking and clicking
Like water in a barrel.
The cloud-lighted sea unturmoiled
In the charcoal depth;
Listen, a bell tolled breath
Stretches the green blue bamboos
In the streamed valley.