coyotes sing to my lack of sleep,
each yip and aaaaaoooo grates me
into awkward shapes on the one half
of the bed I allow myself still.
the smaller beasts cower this time
of year, hunger drives the crows
swooping down on the swallow’s nests,
some tendrils of jasmine insist their ways
around last year’s growth of dead bamboo.
if I opened a little I could see
the points of light above me shift in
arcs that were familiar to me once,
another night has me by the throat, only
the hollowed slinking and me roam this
awkward hour, shamed that after all of
this time there is something we are needing.
todays prompt: write a poem about something missing. It can be about an actual physical object or something you just can't put your finger on (like "love" or "the spirit of Christmas" or something).
Spring is here, damn it. Something about this makes me insomniac. Last night in-between dreams of bad things my heart was a crazy echo in my body as I tried to convince myself to sleep. There is some tension in my body, I may need to get a massage this week, work it out, get touched.
This morning my bedroom was colder than the outside world. I woke and opened the windows and balcony door. Birds are going nuts, there is warmth in the air. This is April, hot and cold, as usual. It may rain tomorrow and on the weekend. But I love April anyway, always have, always will. Somehow it is always my month.
In the Summertime