DAILY ROTATIONS

A Poem

Betty Luceigh

Sky moisture hovers
its orange dawning
a slice of spectrum
announces Earth’s
rotation of mountains
and streams and beings
towards the day’s
affirmation of a sun
still willing
to guide our orbit.

New Life asleep
in its womb of darkness
oblivious to its role
of replacement of the dead
whose withered last breath
took a sequence of dawns
for granted
cycles repeating proof of cycles
trusted to continue
as waking ascends
into revolving forms.

Have we stopped looking
at life that envelops our cage
so comforted
by the certainty
of our own bars
we do not hear
the metal-peckers squawk
“what to do, what to do, what to do?”
as they bore holes for us
to escape gravity
that we might be free to chant
“who to be, who to be, who to be?”

The orange sky
reminds us to simply
gaze beyond Earth
to realize our rotation
into the purpose
of our own gaze
in context with a Universe
that dissolves our lack of ease
into a dot of ultimate desire
to be the color of the next dawning.