This is the gentle rising; this
is the time of dark morning
peace before the hot temper
of the sun-licked showy day.
And before the sun dares to
lift its heated brow, and the night
loses it hold over the lonely crunch
of my searching steps, there is
the sidestage shadows before the lights.
Between the abandoned dressing room
of night and the constant glare
of nature’s grand stage, in a world
filled with actors, there is the moment
of pause, alone with the waiting, pregnant .
Across this cloudless interregnum
colours of orange blend rich out into yellows
and the promising blue of the urgent day;
and I am caught in wonder, suspended in
this time of ambiguity’s light when the great
stage manager, time, has lost her watch
and I am waiting, waiting, waiting for her call.