Daylight Savings

Saturday night we set the clocks
an hour back. Now morning lazes
in a new time that feels strange,
like shoes not yet broken in.

The birds heed only the dawn-tick
of sky and light. Their first aria
trills the sun awake,

then the whole choir of crows
and sparrows, a red-tailed hawk
and at least two geese by the river

make the Sunday holy
in ways we with our inventions
of time and verse and incensed
worship never can. Amen. Amen.



About the Poet:
Christine Vovakes lives in northern California. Her poems have appeared in San Pedro River Review, The Cape Rock, JAMA, California Quarterly, Boston Literary Magazine, Apple Valley Review, the Marin Poetry Center Anthology and more. The Washington Post, Sacramento Bee and San Francisco Chronicle, among others, have printed her articles and photos.



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