working1111

	Tom Rubenoff January Sunrise The sun is not eager to rise in January Lingering over its cup of coffee Rumor of a glow Bleeding into the edge of a star-sequined sky Short of light as the streets are short of traffic This morning People following the sun's example Walking toward the trolley stop I sigh a column of steam The sun rises slow from its kitchen table Spreading gradual blue across the sky Like dye across an egg While across again the blue A deep slow downward-sliding hum Like two bass trombones Twin-engine propeller airplane headed southwest Across the asphalt Catholic schoolyard Boots crunching on the frozen shell of the world I look up past the frowning blackened brick Venus shines like a suspended diamond Beneath the shining eye How the topography must fly From grass to mud to architecture And back to mud again A momentary infestation As the universe waits for the egg to hatch