Five days old at eight o'clock
The sun is split by the corner column
Like two arms reaching out around it
To hold a little darkness at the center
Where I am sitting in an old
Dilapidated barn bird thoughts
Fluttering in the rafters
Small dusty dreams thrown off
By their soft mutterings
Wondering where they've gone
Leaving only an impression in the straw
Where they curled together to keep warm
And a urgency in the brightening air
Three vaporous kings to follow
No comments:
Post a Comment