Your Poetry Dot Com - Restless Hour.

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Sleepless, restless, I opened the door on a world anchored
In glacial stillness,
A mute world, achingly lonely as if time
Had not yet begun.
Fields, hills, trees all faint contours of a map
Not yet printed,
The sky a slab of cold marble with thin veins
Of lingering stars.
I walked the path between trees begging for sound,
Longing for movement,
Willing a pigeon to yawn, to see his wings shift
In the branches.
Below the wood even the river seemed immobile,
Hesitating as if at the start of long journey.
Then the horizon opened
Closed and opened again gulping
Like a huge hungry pike, the sun emerging
From it/'/s jaws,
Warming a distance of granite, nestling in the crags.
The water flowed,
A pigeon yawned, his wings testing the limits
Of the trees
And I returned along the path to the house
The sky now a battle field
Of mobbing crows, time roused and already going
In relentless pursuit of my morning..
I entered the house, closing the door on a world
Reverberating to the sound of marauding wings.

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