-THREE to 4:55 AM-
3 am
All cradled in repose.
Doors closed.
Breath-arresting silence.
No bird, dog, or man making noise yet.
Too early for strains of
Distant planes,
For coyote and determined drunk both, the hour is late.
Machines, motors and neighbors sleep.
Stomach creaks, as a rusty gate.
Now the time is 3:48.
Feigning slumber, the faker lumbers.
The door complains of lacking alignment,
Dog sharply barks at her assignment!
Toilet flushes,
The flusher “hushes”.
Silence swirls and settles once more.
A...
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I live in San Diego, California , spend a good deal of time in Sedona, Arizona and write on both sides of the paper, too! See how your book has lines in it? Blank lines? I wanted to make some space for your thoughts, offer room to respond "in the moment" to whatever wakes up in you while you are reading Poetry of Days. Listen down the Well...it's all there for you!
