Let Everything that Breathes

by Stephen Damon

Let Everything that Breathes

In the predawn darkness
He sees a subtle shape
Almost hidden beneath a tree

A redwood carving of St. Francis
Splintered, weathered gray
A crow upon his shoulder.

He listens to a mourning
Dove chanting an Oo-wah-hooo
Of an ancient solitude.

In the distance, a songbird
Calls to his brothers and sisters
Who soon will gather

In every feather of color
And every manner of song
For morning service.

Together, they will make
A joyful noise of praise
And jubilation.

Bows,
Stephen