Black mountain against a grey marble sky
No technicolor sunrise this morning
I beat you to it
There are more than fifty shades of grey
in this sunrise.
This morning is Cagney and Sheridan in
Angels with Dirty Faces
This morning is Bogart and Bacall in
The Big Sleep
This morning is a noir dream
This morning is black and white.
3am, Sunday morning.
Dragged from dreams,
where feet walk on frosted blades
as a million stars fall from the sky,
which shivers
over silent faces hidden from me.
I reach out, they turn away
I call out, and they fade
The day,
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.
My Words, My World 