Dawn Fancy

The sun pursued an old flame
in the garden, blond hands groped
through bushes, cloyed with gold
the flowers, and wings of birds.

This god's fingers splayed
across azure: light deltaed
like vessels in a blue body,
white blood, bright veins.

He touched heads of granite,
feathered and bow-armed,
gilded marble underwater,
shined the odd penny,

struck at last an ancient tree
as if with fire, wakened
a sleeper whose alarm whispered
in shivering laurel.