Hope, Eternal

I wake facing east

with a window that frames the morning sky.

I wake to rooftops and birds and branches,

and, mostly, neutral skies:

gray dark succeeded by gray light,

cloud camouflaging brightness.

But sometimes, above the dreaming houses,

a wisp of rosy cloud, or a vivid jet-trail streak, 

appears across the lightening sky,

presaging a glorious sunrise—

and I scramble into whatever clothes

and race down to the river

In time to see the silhouetted trees

turn from black to bright,

the river turn from steel to silver,

the world turn from gray to glory.

The long, dark night is over, 

and on the horizon, there is

a hopeful pink cloud.