Half Light

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