Today's poem is by Betsy Wheeler
Non-Sonnet For Sleeping Birds
Early morning light spills trails
of aqua in its quiet promenade.
I've been here before.
Consciousness, its brutal water wheel,
spins for hours & the morning brings
a hardy slipper I have not called for.
Nights in half-lit rooms, my peripheral vision
catches shadows of running dwarves, black cats
in masquerade, a skunk who preens his plume.
I only look when I'm ready to see.
I think the hallway is breathing.
Copyright © 2007 Betsy Wheeler All rights reserved
from Pebble Lake Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
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