bedside

October 13, 2013 § Leave a comment

don’t open your window at night

night wore the stars on

a cape

tied bulky at his throat and I

swathed in periwinkle cocoon of jersey knit

curl, small and watch

small groans of protest creaking upward –

the window swollen with wet and age – rebel I disobey

creep nearer to open outside

to crisp black night and his fluttering

cape

counting sheep

in a single thundering moment, reverberating

lighting rips through the cape until even the stars

wink out in dismay and I

curl, electric to watch

unmoving even as night’s sky

sheds her mourning in darkly wet jewels to shiver

through my screen and swell

my window

in my cocoon dark with sky sorrow

I melt smaller but

in earth-breath roaring

they hear

and come thundering down themselves

the hall

don’t open your window at night

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