Melt of Dawn

In trickles, you are simple as your hands
smooth, retiring, translucent, round:
you are the lingering lavender of the woods in dreams of night
you are slender, slender as the trickle of stream in the break of spring

You are blue as the velvet night of Cuba
you still keep stars and moonshine in your hair
but quickly you are flowing
like the gleaming rays of a church in summer

You stroke gently the deep opal of your history
and as it falls away you curve into the light
till the day is born as naked as you are
the wisps you fondle
stretched across the canvas that you are
and the silence begins
to sing of birdsong