STARING AT THE CEILING FAN
When it is too late
and I am still awake,
I count the millions of tiny mountains
hovering above me
before drifting off into other.
I am never awake
long enough to count them all,
but I am able to see,
the fan and the roof
and an immovable twilight,
the ceiling wears a skin of gratefulness,
one of drowsy solemnity.
Copyright © 2016 John Grimmett. All rights reserved.
Unless otherwise indicated, all materials on these pages are copyrighted by the author. All rights reserved. No part of these pages, either text or image may be used for any purpose other than personal use. Therefore, reproduction, modification, storage in a retrieval system or retransmission, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical or otherwise, for reasons other than personal use, is strictly prohibited without prior written permission.