Timothy Thomas McNeely
The man on top of the mountain looks
where clouds climb up the nearby cliffs
and checks his watch. The dawn is not
in evidence. Instead: a windblown rain,
some spiny plants and crumbling rocks
wet and cold with fog. We stand
enveloped in our blankets, shivering
between the parking lot and void.
The local man is not provoked by storms;
we crowd around the observation deck.
He sings to greet the dawn, the sight
we’d driven hours to see still veiled,
damp light diffuse, the clouds not yet imbued.
The fact of it, delight all indistinct,
he shouts, announcing what we think is there:
This is your sunrise! he declares. This, right here.
He likely comes here all the time, we think.
The sunrise must not mean the same to him.
We turn away. The dawn is done. It rains.
We wander down the slopes like streams.
Timothy Thomas McNeely lives in Tacoma, Washington, where he is a husband and father of four. He earned his MLitt in poetry from the University of St Andrews and studied literature and philosophy in the UK and Canada. His poetry has recently appeared in Gravel and Creative Colloquy. He also appeared in the inaugural edition of Cascadia Rising Review. Find him on Twitter at @ttmcneely.