Pottering though my library, I found an old collection of poetry from my youth. Most juvenile writing is instantly dismissable, but this poem I have always liked, so I reproduce it below. The reader will indulge me, I hope, this one folly.

Break Into Day

A shimmer of pale mauve,
the sea, the sky,
now two parts again,
stretch,
like a trick 2-D photo -
a cyclorama, ever so
slowly washed , and washed again,
of night shadow.
White foam like fresh ice,
tosses, gushes
tumbles in a helpless headlong rush
ridges of ice-clear tunnels trailing.
Suspended brows of cloud disperse,
catching intermittent shafts,
abandoning their aimless silhouettes.
A leaf turns, brown, salty
sounding crisp.
Among the scrub, lifeless petals rejoice
the break into day.