In Praise of Sunrise

Ron Koppelberger

In Praise of Sunrise

One, as well as the other, in radical fame, surreptitious fame, a secret in moldy piles of palm frond and moss. They lay side by side in chains shattered, free, free to the glory of god and morning-tide brilliance. He discovered innocence in the gentle caress of warm thoughts and sparrow song. She stirred safe, his breath, the soul of his trail, the essence of his will. They were disguised in earth and vapors of passion. Hidden from the beasts, hidden from the legends of conferring consumption.
They lay beneath the scrub palm and spears of brilliance pierced the silent escort and umbrage of vines swaying, pines and pine bough. The beasts had traded in suggestions of blood lust without qualm. Hunting, screaming, needing the blood of angels and devoted desire. They had moved on in broken angry whispers of frustration, he gracefully bequeathed the affections of love on his mate, claws flexing fur bristling she sighed and howled quietly.
“The vampires,” she asked as he lapped her cheek, “The vampires.”
“Gone.” He responded with a toothy grin. They stretched and shivered. The testimony of sunshine and pale moon glow filled their request for bond, bond to saffron skies and endless fields of wheat.