Saturday, April 11, 2015


Time stagnates with the darkness,
its moorings hang loose and sway
in night's ink,
though tied between night and morning.

I cannot discern when I am
in this deepest shade of blue,
only where I am by the scent
of lavender trailing in
from the garden through the window.

Time dilates with the dawn
staked firmly beneath the arc
of daylight,
the sun and time speed,
slipping fast and faster without moving.

I know where I am,
morning chore here,
afternoon errand there,
worn by evening's arrival
the day now a rapid blur
too little time left to care.

Waiting for the sun to set,
twilight to give up its grip
upon my person and my world,
I am eager to return to that
fragrant floating whenless.

Copyright 2015 Femme Malheureuse

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