May

The night is as soft as old worn bedsheets;
breeze against the skin like sanded silk edged with cool satin.

The midnight sky is neither black nor blue;
sprinkled with stars like pearl sugar crystals on freshly baked pastries.

Through the open window the scent of spring floats;
the air smells green and purple.

Nightbirds, in their nests, faintly sing the world to sleep with avian love songs.

Ronda R. Scott-Marak

© 18 May 2018