by Michael Paul

Domestic Nocturne

I lie within the silent dark,
A waning crescent moon
Its horns trace out a silver arc
The sky with stars bestrewn

I clear my mind of every thought
It isn’t hard for me
My thoughts are rather thinly wrought
Like fragile filigree

The wind, it whispers through the trees
The branches dance and sway
The leaves applaud the gentle breeze
And `wait the coming day

My daughter breathes in rhythmic gusts
A lone truck sputters past
Behind it rolls a cloud of dust
Although it doesn’t last

The AC shudders back to life
A plane roars through the sky
In the darkness, by my wife
right here, content, I lie.

Дмитрий Пропадалин via pexels.com