Posted in poetry

5:42 AM

A cool, empty dark,
Untouchable for the moment.
The mourning doves
Still, dreaming. A wind
Turning in its sleep.
Bleached light of a
Shoeless dawn slipping in.
Madness sealed away
In bone, cupped
Indifferently in the give
Of a cotton pillow.

Author:

I’ve retired after a career teaching law. I divide my time now between Athens, Georgia, in the States and the south coast of Ireland.