cold morning

Chill awakened eyes wide open 

At the penultimate point of return 

Where sleep’s pure stupor ended 

And kind chromatic currents began 

To haunt vision with sunken sights 

At sunrise hour, ablaze in sanguine

Folds through feather clouds—as steps

unmapped cast traces in sand muslin. 


Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *