Paul Bergmann In The Morning
And the smoke climbed like evergreens piercing the shifting blue skyway
And un-seeming my thoughts were they quietly colored the rain
Under love's false horizon I slander the stealings of sunshine
On the minds that surround themselves bodies that feel like a shroud
Oh the clouds they won't touch me the sky it looks miles from its image
Like a past unremembered and stories found fitting with time
And the coffee met grey eyes still dreamt with that softness of morning
Like a shapeless green river employing the wind as a sigh
In the dawn words and emptiness claw at the eaves of my window
Like a willow they bend to me staving the urge just to fly
All around famous compliments shower the morning with sweet lace
But the moments within them are met with both honey and tar
And the face of insouciance is flighty before the bare moon-lamp
But it gazes upon me and refers my wings to the sky
Oh the palms they're like lovers caressing the skin needing touching
And the rain it falls heavy on sycamores, seedlings and hives