4am
I stepped through the
early morning door into a liquid-laden Spring-scene.
A three-quarter moon
gazed down wearing
it's gold ring of water
The air, chill, though
a burdensome thick
humidity hangs like a canvas bag
of sand
waiting to drop
onto the stage
No bird was heard;
all perched quietly beneath puffy cloud pockets;
waiting for lightening to pierce
and make them bleed.
Copyright © M. L. Kiser | Year Posted 2014
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