Before the Dawn

Shadows blacker than our trees tiptoe
Through your cultivated, boring forest.
You never sniffed the flowers here before
We rose and snuffed their colors out.

Who is to say what darkness is to us
Who are only ruins of old sayings? We
Are the intricate aftermath of our own
Making, by ourselves and by your saying,

And anything said about us, naming us,
Specifying us is an example of us. Wind
Tosses our trees, but tonight is moonless
And we are the only, faintest artificial light,

And we are only shadows. So who can tell?
Even when we hug ourselves, limbs
Invisibly intertwined, those forest flowers
You planted give us a faintly sunrise smell.