Insomnia
After a month of drought, the August
;…….…lawns burnt brown under bright sunlight,
a few weightless clouds now drift by
;…….…in a late afternoon sky. Already, parched
leaves of our backyard trees have begun
;…….…to turn; each curls like a crisp bit of paper
placed a little above a flickering candle
;…….…flame. My son shades his eyes to glimpse
the horizon, as if again awaiting tints
;…….…he sees every evening hinting at the finish
of one more day. In his mind, Alex is
;…….…measuring time by charting the sun’s arc,
tracing its rate of descent beyond far
;…….…lines of black trees, marking this brilliant
vision of backlit landscape to recall all
;…….…these details in the darkest hours of night,
when he will fear the sounds he hears
;…….…in dry winds blowing outside his window,
hoping to remember even those distant
;…….…stones glowing like embers in a dying fire.
Absolutely love the echo of language throughout this poem. Great to hear it as well as read it. Brilliant!
March 5, 2011 at 7:00 pm