(A found poem ~  just for fun...)

 

Dawn and dusk haven't mattered differently to me since I came here.

Neither have I found the seasons tied to the arrival of kites nor to their departure.

Not even the glow of fireflies or the songs of cicadas have anchored me

in some small way to natural time. 

 

My dusk is marked by thoughts of the next day and the week after

and the following month till the end of a semester.

 

My dawn is timed by the sound of an alarm clock that cuts short my dreams,

and follows me as I stumble across the room

to recollect my thoughts under a running shower.

 

Original source: Jonathan Rosen, The Life of the Skies: Birding at the End of Nature (2008: p 298).

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