Monday, January 13, 2014

l i s t e n

refrigerator whispers
as I draw tiny lines on smooth stones
rose thorns scratch at the window
chimes cry, bangling one against the other
wind lows through minute cracks in the pane
I turn off the light above me with a click
and hear the light bulb cool with high pitched chinks
finches converse outside at the feeder
and I swear I can hear the sun warm the grass on the hills