adventures in dysthymia

Friday, October 21, 2016

Hiding, a poem

Hiding

Daylight runs into the sea,
hiding unless I call its name,
call across the breadth of this dark
sky. It always returns, holding
hands with the stars. They slip away,
those stars, but most return as well.
I have never needed to call them.

Stephen Brooke ©2016

A short piece, though it could have been shorter. Or longer. Yeah, it could be longer too.

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