A Sacred Kind Of Morning

All night my heart had burned an ember’s ache

till after dawn I rose and walked the bank

and entered somehow into earth’s first morn

the birds in silent worship and the hills

trice blessed by light and water, incensed haze,

a mist that hung like tabernacles veil

the sunlight on the holy water’s tongue

all made my spirit groan, a happy grief,

no poem or prayerful brush could capture, cage,

the solemn mystery of creation’s praise,

it was, in short, a sacred king of morning.

From Brendan Connolly's anthology, The Bridle Path,

prepared for publication and edited by Brian Bingham,

Next edition of Automatic Pilot available in print and digital format in July 2021.

Closing date for submissions, 15th June 2021.