quickening...

From somewhere
the desert sky finds a tear
and as if it pretends to weep
a dryness floods the incipient verge
we are left with an urge to swallow

So it is when i notice my hands
or the innocence of my pillow
when the rumpled covers-
weary glyphs of a fitful night-
slow dreams and quickening.

From somewhere
the mind finds a memory
to heal the scar left in the night
as if lightning has torn the sky
and only darkness...can heal.