morning light

Storm-pocked deck, cinder sky,
teeth-clattering, huddled
with friends,
—gaze frozen on the horizon,
waiting,
and then, I am
goosebumps: the sky shivers
rose-yellow fog, a copper-
orange spotlight ignites
the lake, and the first-life sky
grows jagged peaks
of silver and coal
cloud mountains.

evening light
Casual sunset-watchers stroll by, take one picture, leave.
My fingers and toes are Lake Michigan
winter-iced, but It doesn't matter
—I'm a dedicated daily sunset chaser, trudging
the path for the perfect perspective,
obsessed with the precise moment
when sun melts into lake—
hot white to tired yellow
dissolving to lush
scarlet, after-growing
smoky silver-pebbled peach.

star light

The moon is a shadow-of-a-sliver in can't-even-see-
my-hands black; lying on rocky iced earth,
I'm listening for stars, and second
-by-second, millions of iridescent
star bubbles burst onto the night-dome—
light-years, ancient.

moon light

Royal moon,
buttery-yellow hugeness
cratered in red,
fullest moon I've ever seen,
perched on the tip
of an ancient pine—|
Memorize this moon.