I lie awake
as if disturbed by some
unremembered dream,
listening for sound.
Raindrops, a cricket against the pane,
a far-off haboob stirring in the wind.
The air is thick and peppery
as I slip outside
past dark, before midnight.
Some spent petunia petals
have turned to powder
on the patio
making outlines
around their veins
like burst fireworks.
The wind tousles
the chime
sprinkling me with music.
My bones dance within me,
stirring the stew of this poem.
I miss you.
The moon is cold comfort
and my palms
never reach that far.
© 2024 Jennifer Wagner
