In the hour of dreams

Tired in the hour of dreams

when clock hands slow to hold each other

and cigarette smoke unwinds

blue signatures in the air

Warm in the embrace of sunlight

the ground begs change

uproots itself from winter’s sorry smile

and turns its back to the sky

until April unfolds flowers

in places I thought life would never

grow again.

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About jbernsteinwrites

I enjoy writing, reading, watching movies, listening to music, cuddling, eating, drinking (a wide variety of liquids), and waking up in the morning.
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