Flight
A flock of birds tracked silent overhead;
A ray of sunlight struck a spire;
A dog barked twice, the echo died away;
A cloud above them lay at peace.
Deep in his gut, the time felt 5 a.m.
The airport taxi revved below.
The street outside was littered with debris;
The night had left its calling card.
The smell of morning hung below the sky.
The clock ticked loudly on the wall.
He slipped his jacket on and locked the door;
Her outline, still, beneath the sheets.
1 comment:
this one gives me the screaming subconscious meemies, for some reason. and reminds me in effect of william empson's aubade, which i say in a high-regard type way.
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