Just Before Dawn
 
We will drive to a mountain 
when the sun is not quite new
wake the sleeping mess of undergrowth
clog our tires on dusty trails
and stall.
 
Turn out all sounds 
silence will conjure muted furs and scales
where hedgerows comfort hibernators.
In the morning’s quiet pallor 
we make acquaintance.
 
Berries and needles 
spice the skies of turning days,
winds blow past the moist  bark 
of thick trees that stand in protection,
leaves graze our vehicle 
and you are as smart 
as the surviving bugs.
 
We open the door,
walk the path of the backdrop 
painted for our stay.
We find the stream and
kick our shoes.
A kiss becomes necessary
as your beauty exceeds
fine strokes on wildflowers.
 
I touch you 
as though I have never held
an Evening Primrose
or looked at orange mottled pebbles
swathed by a cold mountain stream,
or felt a rising sun 
warm my wintered cheek.