3am, Sunday morning.
Dragged from dreams,
where feet walk on frosted blades
as a million stars fall from the sky,
over silent faces hidden from me.
I reach out, they turn away
I call out, and they fade
still hours distant
is crawling round to meet me
I stand in the moon’s shadow
as the snow peaks stand hard and white
against black sky brushed with sweeping cloud,
the air cold on my skin
and I awaken under its kiss.
Nocturnal sighs in the blackened boughs
and, once again,
I have been tossed out into the night.
Lugano night, 3am.
Posted in dreams
and tagged cold
, the night sky