The light is pure,
even as a wash of something
cool and bright
that refreshes me
despite the lateness of the hour.
Work, and the grind of day,
have left me hollowed out,
an old soul,
full of empty dreams and memories
of my youth, crazy and reckless;
when days would not end
and nights quickly slipped away...
I stare in emptiness and quietude,
as she pours her white, mother's milk;
until my lips, where anguish lived,
return to a warm, moonlit grin.
#written 10/29/2003
