Open
Night fire sky
Clouded
My fabricated clarity

Earthy piles
Of breathy leaves
Beat
The
Ground

And knocked on open doors.

Cradled
In Sun's overtime,
The cold Rock
Stares down
With one good eye,
Polished
By intermittent lovers.

Melted branches
Rake dreams
Into a magical
Symphony,
Spreading into a feathered frenzy
On Wind's invisible wings.

Poetry Magazine