Poem: Timbre

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Timbre

It was at the pinprick
of dawn when I removed the pot to pour my cup —

an overflow of coffee sizzled in vibrato
on the heated element of the coffee maker,
the high-partialed wind chime
on the porch tinkled brightly,
the fore-eye of the firebrand sun singed
the tips of low-lying needles on pines behind the meadow,
rising up at just the same exact slow heave
as yesterday

that I thought

This is constraint without limitation,
the sound of the sunrise
that prolongs my life
even one more day.

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