The morning starts cawing in its throat in sleep
And the silky song of God’s morning shall wait
For worship flowers to come in the flower train.
Flower trains are full of milk cans and turbans
And women in colorful costumes smelling milk.
The pigtailed high-rise throats shall begin now
In god’s praises, he bleary-eyed from late night’s
Jumping across the night to wife’s house below.
The shepherd is tending sheep of yesterday evening.
The morning shall begin when the clouds move away
And stop threatening the shepherd with cloud-rain.
In the meantime of morning, let rolling people roll
Like waves in the midnight ocean, their wet bodies
Making silent noises against the stones of the temple.