Just when the cold
juxtaposed with the road sign “Flint”
a polymorphic sun rose over the clouded East foothills.
At the intersection, on the radio
an elegant Baroque tune –a violin adaggio in E minor —
expanded my mind.
Just when the cold and the dark had
gained my submission
so I hoped for nothing,
this morning I was lifted by
loneliness and hard work
seemed the only road,
being mundane or beaten
As the sunrise skittered on cloud shapes
and carelessly cast color through vapor
in Baroque swells.
I believed again