jugs

The grind of a jet engine comes to me through the night air
And I wonder how it would be to lie in the grass
Rested and peaceful
And hear that music.

I put it by.

The bark of a lonely dog calling for an open door
Reaches me and I wonder about the loneliness
Unassuming and real
That simply wants in.

I open the door.

The cry of a thirsty child calls to me through the night air
And I wonder how it would be to feel the sunlight
Warm and quiet
In the still water.

I fill her glass.

Each sound comes from a dark and separate place,
And I struggle for the silence that might yield peace
Gentle and still
In a long sleep.

I lie awake.

Now: a whisper--something about love--
But the voice competes
With restlessness
Tonight.

I cannot hear.

I turn the pillow;
I try to sleep.
I cannot sleep;
I cannot make sense

Of the whisper.

I will wait.

Light comes.
Tomorrow comes.
The dream comes?
I will arise.

I will wait.

Note: A connection between the image and the words? None. Unfortunately. I began thinking how when I can't settle into sleep, each sound from outside seems to come to me from its own universe and buzz around inside a jar. So I had that thought when I began to write, and then my mind went completely off road.

One Single Impression