When dusk eyes linger on the screen,
Pages of ink and wilted stems harkens
A tune– harrowing, hollow, and shrewd.
Once the dawn breaks forth and
Light paints my canvas in gray,
I swallow the sea of withering rain.
Like moondust and mildew in the sun,
An echoing birdsong greets a passerby.
Some narrow croon in the morning wind,
Akin to moss, dewdrops, and brittle clay.
Jaded branches weep in the soil
And burrow beneath a vacant grove,
Shallow, fickle pools of warm deceit.
A deck of cards laid out to bare,
I pocket the poison within my spade
And keep the desert sun this winter–
My hand a somber ruse in the starlit air.