No News on the Mesa, Mid-Morning

It hasn’t ended. No, of course not.

Would you be reading this if it had?

God, the morning is so exquisite,

A lovely twin to God, the evening,

Among the children of God, the night.

There was a smudge on the horizon,

But, of course, it went blue in the sun.

Grasses nodded tassels under pines.

Birds rehearsed species-specific lines.

Read this. No, you haven’t come undone.