Sunday Morning

Softly dripping
Secret whispers of rain
Rustling below my window
The fallen leaves of Aspen
Mockingbird, myna bird, is that a golden finch?
Local rooster is on patrol
Slanting rays
Lie just so, across the shelf
Fluorite and desert rose bloom
Holding fast to this fleeting moment
Eyes are lost in fiery prisms
Facets of eternity
Time slips
In the slow hour
Of your morning nap
And my coffee cup scrying pool

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