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early yet
A morning is a pure, fine bit of silver
drawn ever so slow through an oh
that is always growing smaller.
A morning may stretch on without breaking
if you hold it lightly between two fingers
and murmur to it through sips of daylight.
A fine piece of morning is a pluckish thing.
Will you wonder if I fasten it around my neck
like a bird with beak hidden in plumage?
Will you wonder if I hold it as a sun-sliver?
A fine piece of morning is a thing I will savor,
I will hold against my chest
against a day that shadows morning.
© 2007 Tuesday Magazine / a student-run organization at Harvard College
The Harvard name is a trademark of the President and Fellows of Harvard College and is used by permission of Harvard University.
faith h. zhang / webmaster