Shimmering satellites
Sleep in an unwoken sky.
While primitive thought creeps
Through shattered streets.
Slithering dreams and unkempt memory
Disappear from sight.
Take to the wing.
When at dawn night withers and dies.
© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
Reblogged this on Made of sticks and stones and commented:
Day sixteen of my review of the last twelve months and a poem from May about what is probably my all time favourite subject for poetry, that draws me back time after time …
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