I've fasted all night, and my eyes
are hungry for light to blind
the second sight of my bad dreams.
I crave blooms and birds to sing fifths and thirds -
that wild mix
Sing, world, sing!
Words emerge, not by will,
but by waiting.
Sounds shape syllables. Syllables
settle on my shoulders and whisper in my ears
Be gentle with the morning.
And, I am, for a moment, I am.
Soon enough, though, my eyes wander towards work.
There are weeds in the zinnias,
the tomatoes need water,
and it's getting hotter by the minute.
I remember that last night's dream had a grackle in it.
His feathers were pressed flat against a pane of glass;
he was trapped and struggling to get outside.
Now, awake, I wonder at a blue sky
alive with flight -
black wings cutting through white clouds
like words on a page.
An rough draft for Stacie's prompt at Real Toads