Where the light is

Between the night and dawn,

the sound of waking birds calls out and then responds across the view.

Not alone. But…

Waves meet the shore and slash against

the wooden pilings underneath some burdened boards.

A lonely chair sits, awaits its owner, cold and damp from dark’s scrutiny

Waits for mornings warmth and dissipation of night’s cold, unfriendly offering.

 

Where the light is

between the dawn and darkest night, the sounds of life grow dim

and sleep falls across the waters.

Waves rustle to the sand and tickle wooden pilings.

I watch my feathered friends hurry ‘cross the waters to their safety.

I envy. Then…

These splintered burdened boards hold me,

 I lay down and feel the breath of day breathe out.

 I let dark’s scrutiny cover me in hope

that morning’s light returns.

 

shelley rae bell