It is 4 a.m. and the night is still hidden.
You must know it by now.
The darkness that comes before dawn.
The dawn that waits, so patiently,
For those who question the day.
From the ground comes forth the answers.
Crystal dew scattered on what lived before only in darkness.
Now perfect in vision. Alive in memory.
For the lucky ones who are able to see.
The moment. The wetness lifted.
Fleeting and open in the sun.
Borrow a lesson or two from the clouds.
Being hidden for some time may be prayer.
The moment before dawn.
The tranquility of moisture under a black sky,
Atop the skin of what rests in the ground.
Then without asking,
You are lifted by nothing
But what you understand now.
The contemplation before dawn.
Knowing power with and without light.
Pouring forth to replenish the Earth.