Holly Haworth
Morning song, Chattooga River
after the night rain clicks away
like some overburdened train fine mists
sweep in
the inch worm unfolds
from its unmeasured sleep
drifts down on a single
invisible string
and everywhere in the trees
there is a flutter and unfurl
a slow rouse and ruffle
and still the after-drips
through leaves like ghosts tapping
with bony fingertips
ten thousand pricks
awaken
dozing pools of thought
a ripping open, then:
gray curtain rent by song
bird fluting shrill
and nothing solemn now
nothing still
and everywhere
white light
diffuse
comes seeping.