Outside my open window,
arcing the great gray globe,
I cast out thoughts on
my mind like fishing line.
Shimmering the penniless
colors of night, slowly
unwinding the spool
beneath my tongue,
I begin
to speak unconscious;
A trembling verb.
And you tip toe in
to tuck me in,
lulling as an acrobat.
Cartwheels in camera lens.
All my conflicts
keeping me from
sleep follows you
to neatly pass back inside
my mumbling mouth. But you,
my most beautiful conflict;
You never stay long
enough to resolve
the tension on this thread
tied to us both.
Circumstance gliding,
our friction is a violin bow
dragged across peeling barns
until haystacks erupt
or the crop is sown.

written on 07/06/2011 by: Matt Kane