There are lights beyond, I dream.
Someone faintly ascends
wooden steps, creaking like old
age, and steals the amber drizzling
across half-open books, ageless.
Hey, come back, the words
softly crackle on my tongue.
Sleep, a word slips gently
into sleep, where the lights
flow once more, like a river.
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2 comments:
This one really makes a strong impression on me. I wish I could quantify further than this is beautiful.
More than beautiful, this is delicate. Like a butterfly in a palm. Or perhaps a moth.
Flow once more, like a river.
..sigh.
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