Sleeping By an Open Window

And so the leaves
tiptoe like rustled cotton
through the window
and my ear canal
to my sleeping.
For aren’t dreams
simply echoes
of the climate in my head?
Exponential wind
and beetling clouds

and that periwinkle eyeball -
weathered as moon-face -
my only wisdom.

Written for Bjorn’s dVerse Quadrille (include the word “eye”) and for Twiglet #269 (rustling cotton)

13 thoughts on “Sleeping By an Open Window

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