The dark hours soon shed light
as day climbs up and down ladders in
the sky
Each day this beaming coat thins
combed from the heavens
as white hairs fall from an evening
chin
in the presence of mister yawn
like a sacred trumpet sounds
through a star drained sieve
applauded by fingers that only
scratch away the surface of dreams
yet to float in the effluent
of light from a poorly draped window
No--this dream that heads for bed
swaying in breezes of solemnity
as appreciation for this slender
presence
soon to gather itself
at the foot of a soft alter
to strip some truths
from the body of time
Barry G. Wick
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