First light gathers at the glass
Undraped for early waking,
Red shadows in the room,
Morning without the sun
Which fails to rise,
But moves instead
Sideways through the trees,
Like a cell straining to split,
It must be as hard
To double as to die,
No longer imperiled by love,
Free now.
Behold the hill,
Forever formed by what it used to be.
—with a few lines by Kay Ryan
