Tonight

Tonight

Withering by a candle’s light,

the flowers stand together,

in a vase with a handle,

atop a table with three legs.

Moths, fluttering hints,

on edges

of honest light,  as

hedges of thought,

steep in my head,

my ambition at ebb,

though,  a soufflé of clarity,

rises tonight.

Sleep waits in gangs

with patience,

as sleep always does.

Tonight whispers insistent,

insistent, in what

it knows.

By the candle’s light,

my shadow slithers,

as though leaving.

What I know,

tonight never knows,

so I think,

but never know,

withered flowers,

moths, sleep and I.

Just comfort

tonight,

peace in my home,

perfect vein,

in a moment in time,

whispers a quilt of syrup

quiet.

Tonight.

Hayward 2006