nadir ~ dusk:dawn/

©2005, 2021 Michael Raven

it is that deadliest season
that winter between the chimes of two and four
when even visionaries grow weary
of the fear and loathing reflected in the waters
of their scrying bowls and
snuff out the waning, flickering flame
brittle with languishing rust

brushing back curtains,
my eyes meander the moonlit wastelands
where all is pitch or snow
stark…  white… cold beyond reason
my aging arthritic fingers could close around
that elusive phantom ~ sleep

i am the somnambulist ~ trapped in waking…

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