Morning Poem, August 7, 2016

 

 

 

In the days before we closed our windows

I lay at night on sweat-damp sheets

And listened wakeful as the floorboards creaked.

Those nights when moonlight

Came bright through the screens

And made the night sky blue.

I could smell the dark then

The flowers on the vines, the blossoms on the trees

Heavy in the humid haze.

The hypnotic grind of the cicadas, crickets and frogs

The light sweep of midnight truckers

Along the highway, miles away.

 

Copyright 2016

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One Response to Morning Poem, August 7, 2016

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