Sliced Blinds

It slices and blinds
Those creeping slithers of gold
Coating the caught morning
Unfurling the hidden from cold

With misty fingers hiding 
The baking aching waits 
Feathers caught in camouflage
Beneath the sunning gates 

Til in panes they are reflected 
A glinting of yet to come 
Those marching brilliant tiny blue 
A day from night undone