East End Aubade

One dawn I'll board the Chicago freight
through the long pull of the whistle.
One dawn I'll stop envying
the industry of the pileated woodpecker.
One dawn I'll gather a dozen suns
orange as the eggs of pampered city chickens.
One dawn the blackbirds on the wire
will share the secret of their Yinzer chatter.
One dawn I'll go through the arched door
somewhere between blue and indigo—
a new shade of the spectrum
vibrating like the very breath of ether.