At 4 in the morning
(apologies to Federico Garcia Lorca)
.
At four in the morning
Too soon for birds.
Too late for bats.
Alone.
At four in the morning
Too soon for light,
Its lying eyes
not right.
At four in the morning,
My eyes are shut.
My mind is near.
Too clear.
At four in the morning,
The veil is swept.
The curtain up.
Abrupt.
At four in the morning
I see the ark.
Its gaping hold.
The dark.
At four in the morning
A time to die.
A fatal sigh.
One more.
.
by Brooks Riley