First star
spark remote
barely seen
coldly haute.
Evening sky
purple sea
floats its buoy
tauntingly.
Will you wish?
Do you dare?
Or do you scoff
at childish fare?
More thanks to the S.W. Berg Photo Archives
and the curator thereof.
Category Archives: night
Vagaries in Gestation: On Being Linear, Part V, April 5.17
The pillow of an insomniac
cleaved by her back
tells of her vigil
sitting upright
in the black cold syrup
of slow minutes
the hour of the wolf
they call it
because it stalks the weak
because it devours
nothing changes in her grey room
but behind her eyes
the pageant of life
and death
rehearsing every misspoken line
rebreathing every choked breath
rewalking every unknowable path
sitting up
but wandering
trapped
amid the masks and powdered wigs
of
judges
and mimes.
Connections: March 31.17
If my camera could
I would
make a picture of the sound
this yawning day —
busy pattering soft
rain
mud-muffled,
tire splash
as people trespass
into worms’ world,
robin flutes
through the dripping dark,
splats
syncopated
on the roof.
Connections: February 10.17
Connections: January 5.17
I opened the window
and breathed way deep
the pre-dawn air
thick with sleep
drizzles had left it
soft and warm
very
un-January
not the norm
though wistful for spring
I understood
that January’s mud
smells almost as good.
Connections: November 29.16
Gathering its lavender
pinning it with gold
autumn day retires
iridescently furloughed.
Thanks more to the S.W. Berg Photo Archives.
Connections: November 23.16
C is for Cookie
the monster’s crumbed ditty
but it might be for Cloud or maybe for City.
Whatever.
I missed it
because the lights were so pretty.
(Did you see it, dear reader?)
More thanks to the S.W. Berg Photo Archives.
