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,
available : www.amazon.com/author/brendanconnolly
Next edition of Automatic Pilot available in print and digital format in July 2021.
Closing date for submissions, 15th June 2021.