Tuesday, July 3, 2012

The Last Door

Peering into night's deepest ebony wash;
Barely witnessing the last, tiny sliver
Of the moon wane into invisibility;
Palpitating with anticipation as Segovia
Demands absolute silence before plucking a note;
Trudging on, step after step, after exhaustion
Depletes the last ion of energy;
Driving at 3 a.m., still up from the previous 6 a.m.,
Yet unable to find a motel with a vacancy;
Fingers barely gripping handholds near the summit;
Sustaining the last note without taking a breath;
Weeping through dry eyes;
Sucking the last drop from a glass through a straw;
Anticipating the last wave's was upon the shore;
Deafened by light passing through the edges of the last door. 

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