Morning Song

Under the eye of the creator, every sin will pass, will melt, will merge into the morning air that carries the first bird song, to my ears that is god singing to me in the hour of first light that has managed to escape color, bridge and word, that is beyond eros and logos, beyond the war between digit and blood, beyond my muteness and empty surrender, to a quiet breeze of early summer and my urge to remember.
vpaliwal