Leona Patrick

From the yawn of morning,
the effortless cry,
the soundless breath,
the needle’s eye.

From the full sun at noon,
the fury and the flame,
the melting of tears,
the echo came.

From the empty dusk,
the spider’s web,
I sit and wait
for the tide to ebb.

And only night
can cast her veil,
enfold my soul
in a velvet seal.

Note: written in my twenties.

© 2020 Leona Patrick, all rights reserved