I slipped in
just as the sun stopped,
the low and broken clouds
quietly shifted within a band
of spectacular citrus tones.
I had been up early,
all day discharging the surplus
of energy that’s been oddly provided.
This is not my normal.
So I write this now at another strange hour.
As if on switch, there are birds telling
their tales in this witching light.
I lay here and listen.
What do they say?