Dawn # 2

The red of sunrise lies, a bloodied veil,
on long night's stupor. On the smooth canal
the boat lies motionless; nobody stirs

to cast it from its moorings. In the trees
night's silence rests unchallenged. There's no bird
that sings to hail another morning; dense

dull-copper leaves create a tunnel where
the shade of slumber reigns. A shabby dog
lies, head upon its paws, beside the grey

adobe hut, gone grimy through the years
of constant use. The door's ajar. Inside
near-darkness dims the reds and ochres of

old Charon's bedclothes. On the sleepy bank
I contemplate the trip that will release
me from life's mad pursuits and bring me peace.