Sleep

Time has just pushed me into tomorrow; it’s 12:15am, Saturday morning. It’s windy and the chimes handing about the yard are lending the night their light and song. Time to sleep.

 

Sleep

Only
if a cold
wind
twirls about

the chimes
hanging
from a nail
fixed

to the fence post
nearest
the birdbath
where acrons

soften in a chill
of rainwater,
only if the chimes
hum their harmonies,

songs seeping
through the dark
as ripples stretch
across a black pond

where a fish
has kissed the air.

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2 thoughts on “Sleep

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