(wake up) not asleep, but reading,
(write) she sits the edge of my bed,
tilts her head, waits. silence. (think it
to know). Sylvia, i am tired.
(the write will you), but how,
(ask the sky). and she stays,
to feel, asking cry (I know). pulls
what i push down (inside rain),
closing windows on day (tumble words),
and in sleep of dark, my name, cloud
whisper, pen gripped unwritten (Sylvia),
fly, write us both home (again).
Talking to the Clouds 
this is lovely – such gentle imagery
Thank you, Pam 🙂
So beautiful. It’s like a melancholy dream. Oh, what it must be like to have Sylvia for a muse.
I love the last line. “fly, write us both home (again).”
Thank you so much, Eric. The words come on their own when Sylvia is here.
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Thank you!
You are very welcome!!
Your welcome!!
An engaging, deep and puzzling poem written in such fine and convincing style … but – if I may – line 5, er should that read
“then write will you” ?
Sorry to be pedantic.
Thank you for reading and responding. That line was meant to be written that way. When Sylvia comes, the words write me.
Yes – thanks for responding – hope neither you nor Sylvia mind my impertinence – apologies any road up.
😀
this is marvellous – I don’t meet many poems that make me slow down like this, especially not online/on-screen. Thank you for the ‘like’. Penny
Thank you so much, and I look forward to returning to read more of your work.
A writing stand,
paper, the moon…
riches
“Ah- but will you catch the fishes (words) or not,” says, Chiyo
http://www.ahapoetry.com/twamthl.htm
your words woke these aged words. 🙂
Thank you.
i like the delicate shifts in tone in your poem. thank you so much for sharing it with me. tony
Thank you very much for your kind words.
This gave me chills. Lovely.