Wednesday, May 20, 2009

While Waiting; A Little Song

Dawn begins where I've laid nights before
thinly pressing roof lines for sky beyond
night door wide open to cool, rug, mat, floor
Fair youth, call gently your memory's fond

Folded street silent, a distant train clangs
chorus of cricket metered divine
note of your presence within me still hangs
light tempered touching silvered dry mind

bone frame extending moist lift from the air
fresh hunger stirs traveling, east at my feet
coiled at base line unwrapped tangled hair
exploring toward sunset my corn-silk blue sheet

Dove stills our yard, buff tailed, alone
collared spot-feathers, your pink-eyes shone

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