Monday, June 1, 2009
Living in the hour of the wolf
I am tumbling in that awkward moment
between the owls and larks, when sleep
is held at bay by shadows of things
undone and all the could-have-beens,
tensed toward morning, still on guard
against the nightmare and all her ponies.
I have been washed in salt-watered
worry, crumpled by the daily
uncertainties, a dandelion wanting
the morning, hoping for
coffee-sweet gossip and soft
scandals not my own.
I will whisper into darkness,
pull my tattered icons around me,
facing the silver wrinkles in the river
of my life and move on,
always thirsty to name that well
from which I dare not drink.
Originally published in Full of Crow, June 2009.