Six minutes past the Witching Hour;
watching three spiders
come out from under the porch rails
to spin webs washed away by the night' s rain
as amber light reflects in the strands
of their unfinished homes,
caught by the droplets formed by the mist
Above me, the half moon glows yellow,
illuminating only those that rush by her face,
a Lunar Lava Lamp swirling with clouds
Birds still huddled in their nests
looking east, towards the rose colored Dawn,
stretching the sleep out of her arms
with fingers of light reaching across the horizon
Black turns blue in an instant, it seems
or was this all another waking dream?...
10-28-10
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