The Night Owl’s Song
Wearing the night like a heavy crown
Shards of a shingling voice
Humming startlingly close
This sticky cry of a song
Strewn on parched lips
Flurrying down a bruised throat
in gulps of cornered confessions
His sweet lullaby to slumber
Decreed to death by strangulation
within palpably sweaty talons
Beaten by the flails of choice
He looks at the drowning horizon with dread
Pleading for a single night’s rest
Not a rapturous note within him to sing
Until you unladen the thorny crown
that wears his purple eyelids thin
Until you come within his darkness
and sage his sins.
Notes: As a kid, my mother used to say to me that if you’re not sleeping at night, you have something to confess. And I always used to ask her, “In that case, what secret is the owl hiding?”
If you enjoyed reading this, you may also enjoy:
