Awake in bed in the mid-June dawn
with the criss-crossing shower of birdsong,
the huge stare of an Augustan iris.
The slight wave of joy and fear
of this quiet onslaught of light
where all is the same in the vastness
of the threshold, thoughts soaring,
lingering, crumbling, the idle
magnificence of a loitering emperor
getting ready for summer with the slight
tremor you have sensed since a child
under your earth, the quivering mirage
of the horizon, the gardens giving on
to gardens all the way down to the sea,
echoes of the "away" enlarging.