Contrast

In the soft white of a winter morn
The dark mass with steam rising
Horse shit

Rising Son

I went out early to see which star
You laid your head under and how far,
But the stars were gone, the sky a baby blue;
The color with the child we knew.
I stopped by the sandy beach line,
And peered in among the soft pine.
Then I saw where the message flowers lay
Aligned in one direction, pointing your way.
So I knelt to acknowledge in a quiet hollow
All the places I can not follow
Where the Message-writer will.
I found you when the sun rose over the hill
To kiss your hair golden
To rise to the new day; beholden.