Morning and walking poems

I don't know if you have daily cycles related to your writing, but I find morning energy combined with the mental palette-cleansing from a good night's sleep lends itself to creative ideas. I've even tried to write about the state I sometimes find myself in during this period, especially if I go walking in the morning.

This one is from my chapbook, Another Circle of Delight, which has a number of walking poems:

As Yearning Is Red

Sudden as a hat is ripped away
by the wind, he was over my head.
Long black legs scissored together
as he plowed the seamless sky
with a beak pointed like a boat’s prow.
The wings rowed lazily.

There’s little reason to look up when I walk,
I passed just as he paused to float on a thermal.
I was heading downhill and he was gliding down
to the creek. We were nearly eye level.
I had a precarious feeling, as if my marching feet
had risen off the ground.

His wings rippled several times
as he held on and I did. They rippled again:
a lace bedspread shaken out.
He was white as yearning
is red, still as night’s first sip of moon.
Then the luminous being was gone,
leaving me ruffled and aired, forever feathered,
able to lift on the beat of a breath.