Floodlight The moon’s blank tambourine amplifies the drizzle’s guitar— fragile droplets bruised become sunlit wires of rain. The rising world finds ruined fountains, broken stonework converted to carry running streams. The wounded sleep to dream again, when the day’s pain assembles then disbands. Loss stretches forward to its instruments, unpacks the stars, unravels the tide. Morning pools the night.
About the Author: Yvonne Morris lives and works in a small town in Kentucky. Her most recent chapbook is Busy Being Eve (Bass Clef Books, 2022). Her work has appeared in The Galway Review, The Santa Clara Review, Cathexis Northwest Press, The Wild Roof Journal, The Write Launch, and elsewhere.
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Image Credit: Edvard Munch “White Night” (1890) Public domain image courtesy of Artvee
As It Ought To Be 