Midnight Violet

as dreams flicker and wanly blow
like candlelight
and the lonely moon
sings silently to himself
looking cold and creamy white
through the glass of my bedroom window
I breathe the black-violet air
that floats a thousand ghosts
They call to me and complain
They rap upon my window
But I am the only one who hears
and has to answer their beckoning

by 2 a.m.
I give in
lighting a candle
and raising my window
they spill
over the sill
and fill
my bedroom
where i hear them
and I know their complaints
and as they finish they leave
one by one
and by the dawn
the proud sun rises and
the panes of my window
sparkle warmly


© 2000 David Christie
 
   
Note: This site describes Peterson Toscano's work until late 2003. See PetersonToscano.com for current info.