Thursday Poem - Early Walkers

At dawn, a frail moon waning up there
somewhere in the unseen blue, blesses
a perfect summer day that will surely
never come again to sing, and slow

walkers in the early fog, we go together
paw and paw through summer yieldings
of sweet purple clover and rhyming
cricket, of humming bee and dancing leaf

while all around us, unseen but deeply
felt and loved, the world is breathing
in and out, our three voices falling
into seamless light and tune and time.