I slept badly.
\nThe night was an orchestra
\nof old dreams.
\nBroken shards
\nthat cut me,
\npicking up their sounds and shapes.
\nGroaning in a doze,
\nI longed for morning.
\nMorning was gray as ash.
\nI stepped into the cold
\nlooking through the canopy
\nof oaks and maples
\non the street,
\nwhen the glide of a bow stroking
\na cello of silence,
\nswooped under the branches,
\nto a limb above me.<\/p>\n
A falcon stared at me
\nfrom his perch,
\na wanderer from a bottomless world,
\nimperious,
\nan aristocrat
\nthat lived in a pillar of light,
\nbeyond intelligence.
\nMaster of a void that swallows
\neverything.
\nI shuddered in awe
\nas he gazed into my eyes,
\nas if my soul were estranged and he
\ncalled it to return
\nto the wild country
\nof its original joy.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
I slept badly. The night was an orchestra of old dreams. Broken shards that cut me, picking up their sounds and shapes. Groaning in a…<\/p>\n