3:00 a.m.

The chimes are silent,
Beams break and spark
across abalone and glass.
Somewhere the sea strews bits
like these up on the shore,
whispers, hums a moving tune.

Here, there is no song.
There is no wind.
Happy hour has come and gone.
We are entombed in our own truths.

Before birds’ whistles burst again
across the dawn and this perfect silence
is broken, turn your face to the moon
and pillow your head
with dreams.

6 thoughts on “3:00 a.m.

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