Nightingale

Times that stuck, got struck from the itinerary.
A hole in my favorite sweater,
where the soul shown through slightly.

Brazil nuts opened
Meats flavoring the tonal frequencies.

Sun swelling the carpet under toe
All the clocks chiming and clanging.

You cull the memories.

Foredone earthy matter.
Times that mattered

Eyes chime familiar glows.
Time slows.

We are caught in that speck of sunlight.

Glasses clang.
Our clothes are wet with angels
singing over our shoulders.

Nightingales in the mist of the evening.

-Sonja J. Johnston © 26-Dec-2015