poetry & things


This evening, with the wind

of my curtains breathing, I listen for night birds

watch the room grow pale

the finality of day, a nightly ritual

how skies reconstruct themselves over again

twinkle and murmur of stars

cynosure of all planets, even unseen

clouds like amnesia, hide things

our earthbound slipping away

of days lost irretrievable

Post navigation
Scroll to top