By Sarah Carlton
The crack of dawn is a dark rinse,
humidity descending, night lifting,
bird band rattling while the lead sings
a long note and the counterpoint chirps
witchy witchy witchy witchy witchy
and the one that hums in two tones
like a fingertip tracing the rim of a wineglass
circles the rainy scent of bromeliads
and moldering roots and the grumble
of garbage trucks three streets away
and the solo trolling from across the river
as the muezzin threads the air
with a call to prayer.
Copyright Carleton 2021