Dawn casts a tint on the atmosphere—
forms a grey-blue dome as the robins

congregate to trill an incantation.
Their syllables pop like sparks

in the air. Red clay soil anchors
shortleaf pine where their roots

halve the horizon—bark columns
silhouetted against the sun’s pink

blush. Their bristles open like waxy
green fans. Oakleaf hydrangea huddle

in pods. Their milky cones huff
air where the river birch sheds

its winter sheath. Paper bark curls
at the edges, spirals into cinnamon

scrolls, drifts down to copper dirt
as the sun kindles on the skyline,

opens orange, blazes blue—
tugs day from dawn.