Our conversation,
 
scented by chrysanthemums,
 
lasts until daybreak.

 
 

Summer, at daybreak,
 
a smashing, crashing trash truck
 
jolts me wide awake.

 
 
 

Long before daybreak
 
a dog in the distance barks
 
disconsolately.

 
 
 

Just before daybreak
 
the great horned owl cries once more,
 
then flies to his rest.

 
 
 

Just after daybreak
 
two marauding crows swoop down
 
on the dog’s food dish.

 
 
 

Long before daybreak
 
the first bright notes of birdsong
 
stir the maple leaves.

 
 
 

Blackbird, dare I hope
 
that when you sing at daybreak
 
I will know your song?

 
 
 

Questions at daybreak:
 
Mountain, who is your master?
 
River, your mistress?

 
 
 

Thunder at daybreak—
 
another dozen blossoms
 
open on the plum.

 
 
 

Long before daybreak,
 
an owl in the backyard oak
 
tells me its secrets.