Cockcrow Daze
I woke in the
purple-grey hue
of early morning to
a whippoorwill’s call
ringing out loudly
like it was right
beneath my
bedroom window.
I listened to the
solitary
whippoorwill
whippoorwill
whippoorwill
slicing through
the still air, and
I lay awake
long after
it stopped
absorbing
the quiet
radiating
from the rest
of the house
normally filled
with the children’s
roaring disagreements
or laughter, but it was
much too early
for them to stir.
I dozed back off
in the hazy light
pondering whether
or not it was all
merely a dream.
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The song of the whippoorwill makes it own kind of magic. Was there ever a poem where he appears that does not issue at least a measure of enchantment.