Meg Smith

 

Meg Smith

 

His Hour, Past Sleep

 

In the arc of night, he turns.

Blood moves in a quiet passage,

breath in a steady pause.

His hour moves from gray to gray.

What is our next light?

It is only all I can press

into his hand.

 

 

Those Lesser Stars

 

Everything you can find

stepping into the world of sleep,

you can trace to these pin drops

of light -- and some vessel

moving in darkness,

ever forward.

My dream opens in such silence.

My hands cannot touch the distance,

But I am following, from street to street

without dawn.

 

 

Larry In His Last Midnight

In memory of Lawrence Carradini

 

Even now, we joined in poetry --

words for your eyes gazing at

a nocturnal shore, beyond mine,

or this silent room.

The priest is gone,

and the nurse will soon arrive.

Who hears us, but the summons of sleep?

Nothing to break this passage

or one sigh, in flight.

 

MEG SMITH

 

MEG SMITH is a writer, journalist, dancer, and events producer, living in Lowell, Mass., USA. Her poetry and fiction have most recently appeared in The Cafe Review, Polarity, Raven Cage, Muddy River Poetry Review, Dark Dossier, Sirens Call, and many more. She is the author of five poetry books, and a short fiction collection, The Plague Confessor, available on Amazon.