At Woodend Cottage


At Woodend,
saying Amen to the day,
stars chirrup
in the blackness of night.

I sneck the latch,
dim the lamp
and slip
into cold fresh linen.

My mind ticks
in the stillness
until I will myself to go…
drifting.

Kissing the shores of sleep,
I am the sea:
roaring in the dark,
horizonless.

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