Phil Lane

Nine Ways of Looking at Dawn


I.
Dawn encroaches like doom
written on the sky,
a contract you never signed,
a painting without
a signature.


II
Dawn unfurls like a white flag,
you surrender to
a morning that looms
with idle hands,
itches for something
to complicate.


III
Dawn comes down
like a death sentence,
it’s there, it waits,
the sun rises
even on the gallows.


IV
Dawn is birds singing
in the squalor,
sun shining
through the spit
and scorn of judges.


V
Dawn is another
new sky
of blood
and plumbing
and minutiae.


VI
Dawn arrives
when you are trying
to be a man,
emasculates you
with its flat, white
sun.


VII
Dawn yields
neither marked gain
nor marked loss,
it breaks even,
it’s a wash.


VIII
Dawn forgets like rain:
as rain forgets the drought,
so dawn forgets the night.


IX
After the gloaming,
dawn is all there is