moonlight sleep

a book half-read, notes in the margin
comments on the fog across the hills
they carry their own weight
self publishing

he has fruitcake on the table
pieces broken with some lack of care
reds and greens separated
into a sly motif

moving swirls an ancient dust
caught by sunlight spectered
shadow puppets run abandoned
round and round the walls

rumors were once written
with a flourishing script
multi-color inks withheld a code
laden with cryptologist care

he often fell into old black musings
watched an autumn's child
lying on the grass
hardly bending any leaf

his books are profligate
commanding an attention never shared
a life barely circumscribed
full of gentled rule and comfort

jackdaws lack the language of foxes
becomes a note on page 783
tidily printed from archaic sensibility
small message from the past

celery catalogs lie unopened
stacked apart from mormon tracts
hand delivered by walking strangers
offering unsought deliverance

he's dreamed of cotton covers
scented by a life made without angles
tossed upon a bed moved near the window
so he can sleep in moonlight