Apr 2013

Slipping to sleep in the quick reckoning,
a woozy misspent bloom
sticks heavy at the grip of the merging,
tracks of tread on the leaf.

Sleep, my sweet, in the ornery meadow,
where a daisy’s knees do not slack or wobble,
where the pollen mingles over the stump of the will,
where roots float in the loam,
and petals are folded like hands.

This poem started as an ode to my sleepiness but ended up as an ode to passing over. The "Ode Less Traveled" forms challenge today was to write lines with alternating 4 and 3 stresses and to experiment with feminine and masculine endings.
Mary McCray
Written by
Mary McCray
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