The Sound of Ink

  Night burns its lamp moon across my skin where light seeks a vein.   High on twilight I roam shadows until monsters no longer dance in my head.   In the tree above me I hear a nightingale sing its heart into the wind.   Companions of melancholy we watch stars climb closer to the sun and wait for morning to erase our silhouettes.  ©Susie Clevenger 2021

Image: Alexas Photos - Pixabay   The dead in me joins October leaves in their decaying crush to crumble toward spring.   With every raking of unnecessary I deny night monsters their insomniac delight in watching me pace hours I can’t reclaim.   Raven wing shadows usher Poe’s ink to coffin daylight’s misery so sleep can write its poems across my weary eyelids. ©Susie Clevenger 2020 Friday Flash 55