Death dances a slow boogie.
Even the awkward can follow
Where he leads.
May 1, 2012
May 1, 2012
Single Pane
The glare on the window
catches my eye…
& I am awake.
She’s left warmth
that will not last
like breath on a mirror.
The repeating call
of a mourning dove
& I am awake.
I dreamt about clouds
drowning the moon
or my ancestor
in the bottom
of a clay pit.
I dreamt she left like the fireflies at dawn.
I dreamt the window would only open.
I dreamt of frost covered blossoms.
Their dying so familiar.
April 30, 2012
