it is strange
how the stark white light
of the rising eastern sun
makes the low clouds in the west
look black as charcoal in the sky

it is strange
how such a thing as this
should draw my wandering eye
to the dark and the oppressive
not the glorious at my back

is it me is it me is it me
or is this what all would see
when they step out in the early morn
to enjoy toast and coffee out back
and encounter the stunning beauty
of this bright, this well lit black.