Before fishing hour, psalms speak low
when quiet starts becoming restless
Canadian geese muttering slow
bacon and butter sizzle and wake us
the morning chases off the stillness
next the mist, then it starts raining
dawn, but it feels midnight nonetheless
minds swaddled simple as sun’s sleeping

I glance at the clock on the bureau
the fog lingers on diaphanous
a sliver of night silvers shallow
see the worm, that threadbare little cuss
in daffodils birds rustle the campus
the thistle where morning comes flying
the hungry aren’t yet ambitious
minds swaddled simple as sun’s sleeping

This Atlas beast at daybreak should know
and yet doesn’t hurry into business
when the magic hour of life’s marrow
sliding from night into consciousness
those on the fiddle can poach in the mess
who stagger or roll, some sleepwalking
without regular terms of success
minds swaddled simple as sun’s sleeping

Envoy

The robin arrives in best spring dress
no need for plan, she’s simply walking
before the law, there’s naught to transgress
minds swaddled simple as sun’s sleeping

Mary Winslow has been writing poetry for over 30 years. Her poems have appeared in The Road Not Taken, the Antigonish Review and many other journals and magazines. Her translation of Norwegian poetry has appeared in the Journal, in Wales. She has taught English at colleges and universities throughout the United States. She lives about an 18-mile canoe paddle from the shores of Canada on the Olympic Peninsula and teaches part-time in the Writing Center at Peninsula College.