the weeping of whippoorwills

sometimes the night awakes and breathes


in the night,

when  the wisps of life

drift to the edge of my existence,

I can hear the weeping of whippoorwills,

nested in their loneliness,

one by one, they fade away in whimpers,

until the mist of cooling moonlight settles in,

and the air quiets into the hypnotic lullaby

of field crickets crying out for the others they cannot see,

endlessly, relentlessly,

until all becomes for me, the dream,

once more, once more, once more.






The End

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