nocturne

four twenty eight a.m.
silence and darkness.
outside, palm fronds fray
against grieving shutters.
through broken stained windows
venetian blinds hum and heave
melancholy meowing chords.
on the floor, bands
of pale gauzy light
elaborate bruised, empty fractures.
a passed over geography
of pitted terra cotta tiles.
wait. wait wantingly and the moment
will come when the waning
senses surrender to calm
and sweet slumber deftly
persuades the wrinkled mind to
uncoil the body into dreamless repose