Morning is pure light, on coffee and paper
A song in light raises head softly in the east
On the high place where god sits with trees
In his loin cloth and a fixed stare at the wall.

The rain flies shall begin life’s journey now
As light first reddens trees, makes them blush
Of god on their leaves, in their golden splendor
Their green then mixing in gold from the east.

Light fills our chests, our sleeves, our hair,
In loose strands of a girl’s hair on the road
Where electricity flowed at their fiery tips,
A song on her lips lacking, but felt in breeze.
The girl’s hands flowed as water from hills.
Their music filled trees with leaves of blush.