It is dawn.
One gold star
is still in the sky, its outline
sizzling like neon, blue-white.
The fields are sown
with seedlings springing.
Wild roses
bloom in the hedge.
The two pillars
either side of the archway gate
are keys opening up
a path of light.
From clouds
veiling the boundless,
a strong right hand holds up
an eye in the centre of the palm.
The hand is twined
with leafy vines
young, growing.
The cup of the palm is deep.
To have and hold, it says,
to touch and know,
to work in the earth
and reach the sky.
