Sunday morning summer ha’sonnets I

The cicada
song fills the air,

morning haiku I

The windchime clatters,
thunder growls around the house –
winter come prowling.

The morning commute:
(hooray for isolation!)
bring laptop to bed.

Thanks Vixen of Verse, for the inspiration!   

Morphia (an aubade to sleep)

Of late she has taunted me,
teased
and played coy,

wind-rode (insomnia)

Wind-rode,
mind tethered,
I have missed the tide of sleep.
Dragged by anger,
and awash with dismay,
I rise
and walk,
trying to outpace
the disappointments
of the day.

adagio to allegro

there is no punctuation
between sleep and obligation
each thought flows
becoming the next
dolce
woodwind-mellow
breath-paced
before the pull
of the pizzicato day