Trumpet Morning – a poem by David W. Parsley

Trumpet Morning



It is no cloud surrounding the horizon, 
that silhouette revealed now 
in the growing light along its range.

Around each peak the coming sun’s
announcement glows
like tongues of cleaving fire.  Canyons

exhale on the last lights of the city
as a thunderhead flotilla
emerges from the west

acquiring the migration trails.
Fig trees shiver along the stream
like a weave of trembling chalices.

Beneath the aerial schism the sleeping
earth dreams on:  not the dream
of storm’s omened contact

at the mountains’ first ridges, where light
flies up in face of the blackness, climbs wing
upon wing from the dwindling blue

which at the moment before engulfment
sends the only calling ray
to a waiting rose of sharon in the field.

A former Pastor’s Assistant, David W. Parsley is an engineer/manager at NASA’s Jet Propulsion Laboratory where he works during the day (okay, and some nights and weekends) on interplanetary probes and rovers. His poems appear in London Grip, Poetry LA, Tiny Seed Literary Journal, Autumn Sky Poetry, and other journals and anthologies. “Kyoto: A Cycle” was a semi-finalist for the Able Muse Award.

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