Sunday, February 9, 2014

Day whispered

Day whispered, hesitant, innocent and barely fleshed,
as if reminding itself of yesterday and what had been,
and yet as if wondering of tomorrow and what might be,
sighing in that way of shadowed dawn, creeping, slipping,
shouldering at curtain edges, making its way into now,
blowing bright kisses into the darkness, like fine, shining
edges of hope; as if belief were enough to bring it into
being, and to mould it in the shape of all that the moments
might bring, and all that the past still held, and all
of which the future might dream; the dust shivered,
like clouds of invisible stars, dropping lightly on my
eyelids, calling me to become yet again, singing me to
be born again into another wandering of hours and
minutes, until all would be collected, gathered into the
arms of night  to be held safe until day whispered.

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