Horizon's hat covers sun's bald head and willnot tip for hours. But for dripping
leaves outside the open windows,
hum of distant frantic traffic even now,
the air is silent. Dreams faded, every breath
grows shallow as sleeping spirits waken
to the promise of another chance. In this
baby's breath moment, when possibility
has not yet yielded ground to disappointment,
it is your face I see inside my still-closed eyes.
(c) Ellen Gillette, 2012
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