by January 11, 2015 0 comments

A morning when silence clings
To tree trunks in gardens
To traffic lights
That blink apologetically
To paddocks where ponies
Sensing the invisible
Graze distractedly

A morning with no function
But to pass in anticipation
Of the hour
When life ended
Even lawn mowers
Go about their work

A morning of stillness
Bereft of birdsong
The television’s prattle
Halted temporarily
I scribble notes
Recording thoughts

A morning with no meaning
Without what follows
A film on freeze frame
One image flickering
Soon it will be time
To dress in dark clothes
And assemble guiltily.

editors note:

Some days it’s our turn to break out the black band. Good morning, All! – mh

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