There is a slowness to the winter sunrise
An unhurried separation of darkened sky and shadowed land
Purple and yellow and orange and red
Spread their blurring edges like a healing bruise
A spilling of paints on a table of dark blue
There is a slowness to the winter sunrise
A steady tease promising a warmth that ought to accompany the glow
The night pulled away slowly
Like a duvet that heated those under its comforting embrace
The warmth delayed in arrival, like a promise barely kept
There is a slowness to the winter sunrise
A steady unveiling of carefully collated mercies sufficient for the day
The threats of the land below
Diminished by the golden glow of fresh graces
An invitation to steady belief in a new batch of mercies
