The half light is here.
My eyes have welcomed the
dark and the bed
is done sighing
under the weight of my night-clad
body.
On the other side of the
window
the moon is dancing
a sedate fandango with the
cirrus.
My legs twitch to their
lunar music
painted zebra through
Venetian slats.
Far from reverie
my imaginings clamour to
fly
through the glass perhaps
to steal a set or two
in silver arms,
treading lightly on a
stairway of rays.
But the air in my room
soon
eats the wings from those
Peter Pan notions.
It curls from nostril to
tongue
in a slow waltz to the
sand,
lashing down each lid
with the dull thread of
sleep.
I am delivered into the
night
as Cleopatra
mummified in a pile of
dreams and
binding cares.
Small snores from the tomb
mark the hours until the
moon
has gone and rude daylight
blares
on the other side of the
window,
ordering blinds open with
a
brassy authority
even I cannot evade.
One last
fleeting memory clings
hopeful
to the half light muse,
but she is merciless and
flits
to be extinguished by the
sun.
© Lottie 2014
