Kite at Dawn

Kite at Dawn A high ringing raptor shriek - a windlet lost and drifting down – inhabits my ear space as I turn and toss till morning calm. I hear things on the night wind. pinned to my bed and heavy-limbed, I see fatigued dreamscapes accompanying the sound of the lightening night. Dawn does come to uncoil the spinning reveries of sleepless rest, but not before the insomnia ridden wind has spanned oceans of worry and thought. Senses of bird sound and flight give way to reluctantly remembered responsibilities which nag and rob the night mind of daytime certitude; I spiral howling and damp in the sheets of this tightly wound, wind-driven night.