Night Storm
A storm on the edge of sleep,
a night horse,
black fire blown through
wind-hollowed lungs.
A tempest in the ringing shell of self
where sleep slopes, swells,
rolls phantom eyes in a drowning place.
The mind has miles --- a long foreshadowing.
a storm-child driven to an edge
where his sleepy legs
dangle
over a pitched and plunging bed.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2022
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