In Darkness

Friday, October 27, 2017

Nonet












When my infant son hears the creaking
Of the leather chair, smells the scent
Of his mother there, feels her
Presence even where he
Cannot see, he stops
Fussing and waits
In hushed hope
For sweet
Life.

_________________
Originally posted at Poetry in Form in response to a call for night-themed nonets.

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