Desolate Sounds

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O quilted sky
drape gently on me
here in my shallow darkness.
Before the moon is high,
let me in as nightfall’s
shadow soaked image
becomes secreted
under such a fine cloak,
and this day, which has seen
all there is to see,
is hidden underneath it all.
As I lay crying, I will remember
not to wish or want for it all;
sadness is what it is,
but because it is nightfall
where no one can see,
I will share my thoughts
before I dream
to the edge of sleep –
and until its frayed corners
sift the yawns of sunshine
and covers this bed.
I will rise refreshed on my
bleak horizon
and watch the morning’s
soft dew dissipate
with tears still in my eyes
trying to escape with it
into the air’s naked light
where birds,
half lit, wake
to congregate as buds on boughs
with fingers spread to
temper such glowing
melody; their songs will echo
the stirring winds ’til this full chorus
becomes the daylight of each new day,
and I can breathe it all in.

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