half awake in uncertainty

there is a
depth to loneliness
one that eschews
casual solitude
a solid sense
of detachment
from the dirge
of birdsong swelling
just before
the thunder calls
forth the rolling storm
jagged arcs of
lightning lighting
a familiar room
of incidental ignorances

dreams turn to
motes of dust clinging
to unopened covers
as the words fail
to find purchase
on the reams of
blank parchment
a blizzard of
confused contusions
captured in the silence
before dawn breaks
over another
discarded skyline


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