Peace on the Morning

I feel like a mantis in a meadow,
    enticed by silky green stalks as
      far around as my eyes can see,

a feast of coolness and
    dewdrops and perches to
      land on or hunt from or sleep on.

The world feels full and lazy
    as if it rested in a secret,
      this pause in the play or an

intermission backstage, all
    the actors sprawled and happy
      and lounging about.

Even the birds sing casual notes,
    just once in awhile. It’s the feel
      after a battle though I don’t know

what the battle was, maybe some
    death struggles of small creatures
      in the night that I slept through

or dreams I don’t remember. Or
    maybe it was love not death that
      spread this peace on the morning.



© Zen Oleary
June 26, 2004