The First and Only Dawn

I watched the day break through the barren branches of the aspens,

gold and silver emanating from the borders of the watercolor foothills, 

casting its shadows on the Rockies and propelling blue and violet light,

from this dawn unto the next,

unto the next,

that same pale glow which illuminated these same infinite fields, 

for those who carried this blood within,

when I was just a cosmic idea,

awaiting my sacred articulation, 

what a country is mine! what a hope we all share!

I think as the day’s birth crescendos in pink clouds, 

destined to scatter their rain on some scarred and tired face,

turned up to greet this morning and not unlike my own,

the memory of the night beating in both of our chests,

the tears for the unattainable post,

built on the lamentations of others,

still welling in our eyes,

from one million sunsets ago,

into the first night and the first loss,

whose first day we shall always mourn,

for, no, the world shall never be the same,

but we, the hardy few existing now-

at the awkward junction of yesterday and tomorrow-

will press on,

united by the arrival of a clear day,

and the dream that it will be worth the mourning, 

and the hope for that dream to endure,

for every dawn to come. 

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