Fire that belongs to another day
Flares up and over black horizon's lay

The day dreamer
waits,
waits,
watches.

Still, but not at peace, as the lights recede,
She watches the day drift off.

Her thoughts fret through the time-pockets of her day.

She wishes hex on weeds that choke the need to thrive.

From cob-webbed corners of abandoned lofts, she hears the whispers of neglect
'round the muck that once was life.

The call to order
never,
never
ceases.

She names the beetle, on her toes, Heloise.

The minutes roll into hours like the head water
pours
into Blackflood creek.

Blocked and closed off from dangerous encounters.
She saves her secrets for a needful and dedicated ear.

Know'n, tomorrow, the sun must needs shine on new-bleached linens,
lazy flap'n on the line,
moved by winds not yet defined.

She willingly waits for the night's surprise.

She strokes a cat named  Norman Rockwell.

After dues of day are paid and time belongs to her alone,
She sits,
she waits,
she stays,

till the whisper of soft pine boards
Betrays an easy step.

Heloise takes her leave.
Norman Rockwell ... stretched cross her lap... arches and jumps up on the porch rail, as he cedes to the inevitable.

The sharp edges that, under the sun's watch, are defined by choke, neglect, and rot

bevel soft and sloped.

The twilight
always
always
smooths to blue shadow.

Each night anew with silk and and velvet soft.

Sandalwood and cedar oil perfume the after light.

In this moment of the whole of life...
that dares to straddle emerald glen and tempest sea...
they feed each other on each other.

©Naomi Marshall 2018