Rattle

the wind at midnight fuses night
with sound and a sleep sitting up
at window ledge in night’s apron

the fan belts a wind to May heat
of poems unrealized ,skies dead
to their potential cloud and rain

come June , the hills will get up
from stupor down at map’s feet
to hurl buckets from sea’s vapor

the streets will rattle with wind
from the hills and cry its saltless
tears arrived from a distant sea.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s