Reading under a solitary light
(my mother's house asleep),
I register water sounds--a faucet running?
No, rain--tumbling from a gutter.
It splats and gurgles, taps and drums
across the round room roof.
I slide from my city-slumber,
wide stillness wooing me awake.
Fields empty for sound enfold this room,
hold the rain-music beyond the walls,
the old dog's breathy dreaming,
the little cat's velvet thunderings upon the stair.
Twice she hums a sliding note--
her wild black shadow released.
(my mother's house asleep),
I register water sounds--a faucet running?
No, rain--tumbling from a gutter.
It splats and gurgles, taps and drums
across the round room roof.
I slide from my city-slumber,
wide stillness wooing me awake.
Fields empty for sound enfold this room,
hold the rain-music beyond the walls,
the old dog's breathy dreaming,
the little cat's velvet thunderings upon the stair.
Twice she hums a sliding note--
her wild black shadow released.
It is phrases (verbal sparks, I am tempted to call them!) such as "velvet thunderings" that cause this reader to rejoice every time you post a new poem. Thank you, as always.
ReplyDeleteThank you for sharing in these poems and encouraging me-- Also, merry Christmas, Thomas!
DeleteGlad you are hone, and make us feel at home.
ReplyDeleteThank you ~ I'm glad, too, Newell! Merry Christmas!
Delete