Driving to work each morning still remains the best time to begin poems . . . so usually they are about what I see. This morning's observation:
To the west, a round morning moon
floats as reminder of night, impossibly high
against a pale blue sky.
To the east, the sun fills up
the sky with pink and yellow.
Caught between light and dark,
we do not know what tides
what brightest day,
what darkest night awaits.
Only the moon rises and falls,
a sliver of sun through the night.