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”) … Continue reading Sleeping By an Open Window