let the clouds roll in

Let the clouds roll in, shrinking the world down around us
to just this valley, tucked among the hills,
to just this clearing in the forest,
to just this house,

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