I woke at two
In the deep dark
with rain making soft lullabies
beyond the window.
In this space,
this moment
beneath the mantle,
There are splatters and deltas
Splayed like stretched fingers.
The drip from overhangs,
the dribble from ledges,
the patter at the glass,
as sure and soft as fingers on flesh
and there the hush
like breath against a summer tree
or a sigh of ghosts; still warm
with the memory of lost loves
So for a little while
I lie down in the darkness
and listen
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 7:00 PM UTC
I woke at two
In the deep dark
with rain making soft lullabies
beyond the window.
In this space,
this moment
beneath the mantle,
There are splatters and deltas
Splayed like stretched fingers.
The drip from overhangs,
the dribble from ledges,
the patter at the glass,
as sure and soft as fingers on flesh
and there the hush
like breath against a summer tree
or a sigh of ghosts; still warm
with the memory of lost loves
So for a little while
I lie down in the darkness
and listen
