June 15, 2016

4 a.m. by Robert Ford

Finally, we fell away and into fractious sleep,
to the sound of rain, gentle as the ebbing
of each dark layer in a long, splintered night.

The heart’s gutters choke with stripped leaves,
damming the torrent of tired, uneasy words.
Another day awaits with nothing free, nothing

resolved, but your familiar breath across my ear
is like the first footsteps taken inside a new temple,
breaking the seal on an overwhelming peace.

Robert Ford lives on the east coast of Scotland, and writes poetry, short stories and non-fiction. His poetry has appeared previously in print and online publications in the UK and US, including Clear Poetry, Dream Catcher, Firewords, Melancholy Hyperbole and Wildflower Muse. More of his work can be found at https://wezzlehead.wordpress.com/

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