For Sunday Whirl poetry prompt: Wordle #13
Somewhere In The Night
Emerald bones of trumpet vine
flap from rail of deserted balcony,
high above evening void,
where silenced cars sleep
in pantomime of perfect slumber.
Dried leaves whisper in ominous
rhythm, as they brush against
rough concrete, jostled by illusion
of divine breath releasing celestial
message, heard, observed
by no one.
Elizabeth Crawford 7/17/11
Process Notes: As happens on occasion, some of the words simply connect with others, even as I am writing out the list. The first verse was already whispering in my ear before I finished. The second stanza came with a bit more difficulty, because ominous and divine illusion really wanted to stay together, and none of them wanted to be jostled by, or have anything to do with observe or that pink border around them. Sorry Brenda.