tell the sleeping
a dream
that may haunt
me awake–
and keep my wits
alert enough
to catch its
meaning,
shadow play
sheltered beneath
fractured
wing
rests
a fragile
quivering thing,
knows not own
strength–
nor that it’s
been seen
by every other
passing
being.
when my faith isn’t
as strong
as i’ve let
on,
i slither down
ladders
into lakes
of my own making
to bask for longer
than is healthy
for someone craving
something
real.
i fall
into her tune
when i should really
craft my
own
to regale her
deep into the night,
for each
and every time
she’s shared
of hers
to spare me
mine.
life on
a sunny day..
differs little from skies
speckled greyer,
i’m paying the
meter–
hanging from
feeder
in want
of a bird song.
good vibes roll in
on high
tide,
watch as beach bathers
run inside,
to avoid crashing
moisture,
engulfed
by the waves
we’ll drown in
pleasure.
don’t call yourself
sunshine
in the middle of
the night–
even though
your smile
keeps our bedroom
plenty bright.
i hold your photograph
too far from
eyes
to make out our
expressions,
then paint on my own,
from a healthy
distance
to see us smile
again.
dragging fingers
over strings
hoping something
tickles
where i’m
numb,
while humming notes
all wrong
to hear new
compositions come.
working through
the hurting
while
questioning
what’s
just happened
to leave
us sweating
this long into
the night.
hands in the garden 
You must be logged in to post a comment.