Sunday, September 25, 2016

Efi Hatzimanolis #209 The Sleepwalkers

I dreamt of you again last night. You didn’t turn a hair.
Tell tale signs have reappeared, waking
as I rock back into bed, kitchen venetians open
too soon, day sliced through before it has risen.
The steel sink radiant in the morning sun. Your smile, mercury.
The bird calling. What bird cried all night? What bird cried at all.

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