The Real

Morning moon casts
a sliver of silver light
upon shining stone pavers
drenched by some unheard
nocturnal downpour

Trees etched black
against the quickening sky
know nothing of the dream
that left the dark night
shrouded in a miasma of fear

And the bright morning star
caught in a corridor
between continents of clouds
winks knowingly
this is the real

This waking sun
This cool wet grass
This red-winged blackbird
heralding the new day
with an exuberant shout!