Under a red and rolling sky
as haunted as a Rorschach blot
Energy finds the middle eye
and gleans the epiphanal polyglot.
Now rose, now lavender and gold,
the clouds combust and burn away
shimmering light bursts through: behold —
the awakening we call day.
O, this grey pulpy mass of brain
like a recalcitrant ghost
ratlles the mental window pane
where dull memory stands engrossed.
Yet is shaken from sleep again
as the Sun rises like the blessed host
and gives the middle eye a toast.
- John Kendall Hawkins