On Watch
Il Paretaio, Tuscany 2004
Felt the hard stone of the window’s lip
against my hand, its age, the permanence
of walls. Night breathed in
the dark and swung a pocket watch
over the hills and winding roads
until they slept and in the olive grove below
fireflies swam in whirlpools in the trees
where a nightingale sang:
For god’s sake hold me or I’ll drown.
from Autumn Sky Poetry DAILY, September 29, 2015 — by Neil Flatman
photo by Christine Klocek-Lim
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