joy knows no bounds
in the predawn hours

the earth is held in the embrace
of an otherness that can only
be called ‘sacred’

it’s like a held breath,
a halt in time’s march …

then, the peach-hued sunrise
is noisily called forth
by the feathered guardians
of the dawn,
and the breath flows out

into the glory of Gaia’s first day


– miriam louisa
echoes from emptiness