I arrive quietly—
a soft unbuttoning of night,
threads of darkness slipping
through my fingers as I wake.
The city doesn’t see me at first.
It is busy forgetting its dreams,
gathering them like fallen scarves
left on the backs of chairs.
I touch the windows anyway,
coaxing them into gold.
Every reflection lifts its face—
even the tired ones.
Birds borrow my color.
Hills borrow my breath.
Rivers rehearse their shining
as though preparing for an audience.
And just when the world
finally remembers its name,
I fade into the chorus—
content to be the note
that starts the song,
and never needs to finish it.
Thank-you for reading.
Remember there are many paths back to God.
Follow your own path,
Brenda Marie
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What a breathtaking and profoundly gentle poem, Brenda. The personification of dawn as a quiet, humble presence is masterful. I am in awe of the delicate, almost tactile imagery—the “soft unbuttoning of night,” the darkness slipping through fingers like threads, the city gathering its dreams like “fallen scarves.” The speaker’s quiet, transformative power, coaxing windows to gold and lending color to birds, feels like a miracle. And that final stanza is pure magic, offering a philosophy of serene purpose: to be “the note that starts the song, and never needs to finish it.” This is a piece of rare and quiet brilliance. Thank you for sharing it. 🌷🤝