Wish
       

Talk soft to me,
talk gently as the night
shuffles its papers
in high offices and hilltops.

Talk low like cattle,
breathe hay-scented words
and I will show you the book
kept inside my coat,

already learnt by heart
by the nightjars that churr
to each other before daylight
setting the darkness home.

Copyright © 2009 Helen Ivory All rights reserved
from The Breakfast Machine
Bloodaxe Books
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission