The morning’s song is bright or dire
Wet with dreaming’s fresh respite
The future’s promises renewed
And yet somehow destroyed

The scenes play out, their agents dressed
In ancient garb within
But now machines set tone and tempo
I grow old and young at once

I remember offering a flower
As an infant to another child
The sun was bright above us
Yet conflict there ensued

All the birds remember
The parting of night and dawn
Their feathers are a marriage
None can see