The Hawk Queen Bed 12:18pm
I see The Deep Purple
of My Prescribed Nap
I hear The Fog Horn
against My Muffled Ear
The Rain is on The Sky Light
My Eyes are strained
against My Note Book
held in The Damp Dimness
of My Sleep-deprived
Afternoon
The Hawk Deck 3:25
The Surf is rising —
I hear It beyond
the fog-wafted scrub spruce
to The North
–
It is calling Me:
The Waves surge through My Limbs
then subside
while I get My Breath
–
My Art is in My Pen
driven by My Surroundings:
today the breezy fog
accompanied by horns
low-pitched
meshes with a Chickadee’s chirp
as I relinquish all longing
& bask in My SELF
Joanna Gilman Hyde 