Early, this silent earth
in the stillness before sound comes
before the sky, the narrow line of light that forms
my ears not yet attuned to this world
search for noise, waiting for the first bird
then soon a chiming bell of birds
a cactus wren that comes to drink of sun
or deeply sweet, the air with mourning doves
that woo and coo before the dawn
a soothing balm, a bliss that fills my head