Slipping past the pyramid in Memphis at dawn.
Moving toward the full moon as the quiet dark waters of the Mississippi rush underneath my wheels.
Early morning.
At sunrise, the water is smooth as glass.
A jet airplane rises through the morning air.
Morning purple as a crushed rose.
The river as calm as glass.
Quiet as sleep.
The sky and her twin, the river, run toward the horizon.
Where the river touches the sky, she blushes and the dawn comes.
Michael Skinner has written a book of poems called
Liquid Mirror: Waiting on the New Moon.
The book is divided into four sections.
Wanderlust speaks to restless travels of a wandering minstrel.
Dawn Warriors is a celebration of the break of day.
Screaming Over the Liquid Mirror refers to the cries of sea birds as they ply the intercostal waterways of Eastern Florida.
Waiting on the New Moon is a collection of love poems.
Every day I drive into a technicolor sunrise.
Such is daybreak at the Eastern Edge of the world.
I must cross two rivers before I reach the sea. Each river is spanned by thin web of steel and concrete.
I work a stone's throw from the ocean and I gauge the tempo of the day by the colors of the sea.
A dark blue sea protends a calm day.
A green sea speaks of storms to come. a slate gray sea: the storm is here.
