Saturday, A.M.

Cold woke and dream-rocked;
Knees creaking, shivering —
Finish the fruit while there’s yet time
(Eyes still mostly water, with some stone)

Love’s on a friendship never borne:
Thoughts slip and words linger —
Sleeping past Orion’s welcome.
When did these become my hands?

Tiny bell that signals message.
You are there and I am here —
Into the dark I have to go:
Into the sky that swallows up

My dark

Author: Beleaguered Servant

Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.

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