Incomplete Queer Aubade

The Mountain of Dawn is how one’d start:
a line about density, O hint
of The Sun raking
the cloud of night through, azure
       —   not the right phrase but the draft
              of the right phrase—
veins like geodes, the cloud slowly turning
palpable— like a mountain— in light.
Not gold, only sulphur 
the most of the hint of light spent 
rebooting the world/Coburg: the now visible
skyline, the outline of the mountains in
the distance, a communications tower flashing/
hardening. There is ambling
of cumulonimbi and the Doppler effect
of trams/buses, early morning workers/pedestrians. 
The patches of wattle and gum trees/horizon
is visible. History is the different
points on a plane, where a desert is
formed out of discrete black grains. Light gains
intensity; the specifics
of the grey tufts
       —   you may have access to discrete words
              like Oxygen, Nitrogen, fluidity 
              and vapour— 
gain power, the metaphor of gaining 
power, becoming (il)legible; the sky is full 
enough; there is a gradation — a red/yellow
to blue, to bruise, the point of transition 
unclear/ hard to pin—between the centre-
         -   stage, a sun performing
an actor, accepting their flowers and calls
of encore and the tiny stitching
of something ineradicable at the apex,
holy ionosphere meeting a part 
of a given everything else/a given language.