Along with
The sheet
Its furrows
Lounge about
Stripping naked
The edge of the bed
After giving up
Its coarseness.
The room
No more somber,
Its only unlit
Now, the sky,
Through the leaves,
Has completely
Turned color.
It never jogs,
The day always
Sprints away
In a few seconds.
Chasing after
Those murky lights
And like always
It will exhaust
Itself and Lie
Alongside my threshold
That lies at the foot
Of a mountain,
That always
Manages to beat
The day in luring the sun
I contemplate
Tossing
At the turn of sky
In the morning
The day shall emerge
People on that side
Of the mountain
Will think it arose
For them and their colors
To help see
The source of their sound
And to locate
The darkness of quiet corners
To return them
The blue of their walls
Along with
The white of the fence
That the parting sun
Took away
Just sprinkling a little
By accident,
(Or, perhaps by spite)
On the creek that remains
Unseen a little over there
From where
The village furrows
Wrinkle into my bed
After shedding
Excess brightness
The sun soothes
The creases
Of the worrying sheet
Nudging the shadows
One into the other
There is no rush,
They can move slowly
In unison
No one spies
Over the window-sill.
