I wrote this one in my journal years ago when the boys were small and solitude was at a premium.
by Mitali Perkins
Last light spills across the sea,
I watch it, standing silently.
Savoring the singing space,
Lilac hour, liquid grace.
When it’s done, I take the quiet,
Carefully, I fold it, tie it,
Bring it to my house of sound,
Store it so it’s quickly found.
Discover more of today's Poetry Friday offerings.