Just before daybreak the sea turns dark;
waits to receive the colors of dawn.
Streaks of gold and pink luster the foam.
The sky’s skin is branded with stars.
Light bent and dusted by the moon,
folds back the tide, like a blanket.
Scarved by the Milky Way, 
which is the breath of angels,
a new day is born within each dusk.
Wrapped in the sultry green of the tropics,
morning hesitates in the heat.
The sky pales to the color of burnt milk.
In the swarming silence, dragon flies
fleck the sky like sequins.
The image of night’s journey is reduced
to the erased memory of dreams.