Tonight in my nest of stones I have not slept.
Through the walls my neighbors fight over how
best to spend their time as it silently slips through
the space between their fingers.
As the last grains fall it seems reasonable to be
present for the hours left.
When the dawn climbs above the ocean I can see
that deep amber on the shore, the color of
my lover’s eyes when aroused, waning to hues
of gold that glint in my half empty glass.
In the unkempt night I rearrange decaying books
wander halls of memories pillaging my mind.
Trinette Reed photography