Key of Dawn
In the thin hour of night
that comes between first light
and the glory of morning
you will find me.
In the golden tussle of dawn,
where the ancients crashed chariots,
drawing the dead night across
scarlet skies, I may wish to be
hidden, partly in, mostly out
of this world, its lame ducks
lining up to be crucified:
work, commitment, money.
Let the dogs of dream come after me,
I’ll give them a rare chase,
more run for their fun than any fox,
hidden out of time and place.
In a dream, in a night-mare
where the ticking clock fails to come,
where the spirits of children keep alive
the cold hour of calling,
come, be with me, share
with us the secrets long hidden
behind the veil of silent night
unlocked by the key of dawn.
© george wicker 2006