At Cockcrow’s Edge
We fragile things of
Filagree and silver wings
We rise through dark
To dawn unmet
Spare light guiding dim
Through wisps of ghost mist
Fogging cockcrow’s call
Across autumn leas
Teeming damp and close
Dawn gives little way
In drought-hard doubt
To drive heart’s spade bar
Deep enough to liven
Winter seed and root
Measure hard to find
Through dawn mare’s-tail mist
Wading backroad wisps
Unsure where to step
With so little left
Feet lose their purchase
Slip as gravel weeps
Soft her ragged tears
And threadbare solace
For dire dawn unmet
Breath at widowed edge
Through hardscrabble whirl
Thistle wind and dust’s
Grace of beating wings
Wisping angels wait
At cockcrow’s edge
Our measure met
We fragile things of
Filagree and silver wings
Steven Bucher is an active member of the Poetry Society of Virginia. His first collection of poetry, We Stay a Brief Telling, was published by Propertius Press in 2021. His second manuscript, My Soul to Keep, was named runner-up for the 2025 Eyelands Book Award for unpublished poetry.