Night Writing

Night Writing


Only a neat margin of moonlight

there at the curtain's edge.

The room like a dark page.

I lie in bed.

Silence is ink.

The sound of my breath dips in

and out. So I begin

night writing. The stars type themselves

far out in space.

Who would guess,

to look at my sleeping face,

the rhymes and tall tales I invent?

Here be dragons; children lost

in the wood; three wishes; the wicked

and the good.

Read my lips.

The small hours are poems.

Dawn is a rubber.

(Carol Ann Duffy)

encontrado no Abrupto.

blue

keep it quiet

keep it quiet...and simple

(
My nose is completely nonfunctioning so sleeping it’s not easy anymore -
all night I hear the church bells : each hour and each half hour, get their toll
night can be dark, but has a sound map to it, around here.

Flowers - flowers I guess are the reason
For my shortness of breath - white bushes covering the hills like late snow,
Making the air vivid with scents, everything blooms, everything sings, no
everything SHOUTS and trees only a while ago, like lost souls wailing the skies
are now green, feisty, fresh, luscious and new.

I sit in the Hospital chair waiting to be called in,
It’s all quiet and I’m in front of a big window facing west,
Sun is setting and I can see it through the clouds, a little rain falls, and all is magic.
I’m alright, I’m alright.
)

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