Gussied Up

ere the dawn rises
the sun a boutonnière pinned to pale silk
a lining of silver
draped in folds like a skirt
trailing lightly over a glittering floor

and to greet the dawn
the trees put on white dresses
matrons stately in their sunday best
and the littles ones
though overweighed by their finery
stand proud nonetheless

the trees dance,
beckon to the dawn,
branches like dark hair
tossed by the wind
and ice crystals like sequins
throw prisms of color
tiny rainbows that kiss my skin

i watch this meeting
this dance between sky and earth
ere the dawn rises