Midnight, July

Midnight, July

We writhe
with a rage to know
the unknowable,

blind to great masses
that dance in dark orbits.
And a soft, summer wind 
on a night beneath stars
is no balm.

From somewhere a whistle 
casts a line,

a fragile camaraderie
in a world
fell silent,

where white moth-wing
is riotous

and a spider's touch
carnal.


©Andrew James Murray
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6 thoughts on “Midnight, July

    • I remember the night . . . sat in my back garden, looking up at the sky, wondering if there was life out there . . . my solitude broken by an unknown person passing the front of the house, whistling softly.
      Therein lies inspiration 🙂

      Like

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