Sunday morning

Silence rings

in untouched air

whispering through door frames

svelte, past magnolia walls.


Silence is golden

the border of light

below blacked out windows

sunshine glittering

through cobweb punctures

and curtain slits.


Silence humbles

my feet, innocently

curling into carpet

grounding night dreams

and shopping lists

searching for coffee.


Silence is fragile

time slipping as sand

through fingers, crystals

shattering in quiet about me

as car alarms and lawn mowers




Image credit. 

9 thoughts on “Sunday morning

  1. Ward Clever says:

    This poem made me feel wistful and cozy all at once – sort of like being wrapped in a blanket, drinking coffee, on a weekend morning, yet lamenting in advance the time when this will end.

    Liked by 1 person

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