This Morning the Sun . . .


night has forgotten to absent the earth,
though the sun somewhere behind these clouds has
as they say risen.          dreams shattered on the rocks
sometime in last night’s silent tide cycle,
not so much fragmented as obliterated
completely annihilated and given
over to oblivion:                                the empty bed,
shadows sans partners dancing sans expression,
passionless moonlight denies gods exist,
silence no longer a sound but the absence
of music, which fell to half-note ruins and
mere myth of itself somewhere in moonless
immitigable night   .   .   .   and from this dank
morning mist, color drains away into grey.

David M Pitchford
3 Dec 2011

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