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Matter of rain at the window,
for want of a better source
lamenting satisfaction. A door
on how there once was breeze,
where over once sat sunlight. 

..........Past sounds sounding night,
..........from perpetual eventide tuned
..........low to round level fahrenheit.
..........Sum gravity of this circling
..........globed spiral- a ground swell. 

Breath by the hidden half-moon
in slack wind. Both supposed and
known while only a sense through
sleep to which I am partially awake.
A dream, as it persists foreign to me. 

..........Maple’s cragged silhouette
..........dissolution in slough drowsed
..........down to faceless grey stone,
..........hardened definition staring up
..........at the mild somnia of decades. 

Autopsy of anticlimactic dust,
lain dust atop enfolded pages,
under a roof where this stirring
is filled with a swirl of old words,
odds that hold fast to being reborn.  

..........Mysteries gradually grow upon
..........meandering emotion towards
..........ghosts, dour elation, sufficient
..........vanishment  when the hour hand
..........of the clock strikes homeward. 

Direction over and over within
earthen radix of every dark star,
assured rapt finality that lapses
ever along by what’s slowly drawn
out for the benign truth of going.