Mara

Earth is sighing asleep above me tonight,
massive, always falling toward the roof:
it paints my world whites and greens
and whorls of cloud where my silver lays passive.
There’s a commentary on not needing
to breathe here, somewhere, but this
evening is immense in thought and
that one will come in it’s own time.
Here, in the cold, in the dark,
I dream of you.