Tracing the Moments
I surface with the morning rain,
a night blindness
opens its windows one by one.
No work to go to
so I write
casting shadows upon a caged sky.
Words appear beneath
a curled tongue.
I draw a sketch of black bones
and white spaces
arrange a runic code
into a stuttering speech.
A percolating coffee pot
sounds its reality alarm,
but it is far away
and I can hardly hear it.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2023
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