unsleeping and undreaming in the snowing and late night
thin clouds pull into thin gauzy shapes as they drag across the south side of Pilot Butte
like bluish specters haunting the landscape
as a pink push of refracted city light rises in the east, a false sunrise
lights flash hazy up on Pine Mountain and i can scarcely imagine their source
the snow is thick and struggles to survive the advance of the rain among its own ranks
the world is silent and indecisive
speaking only in a hushed lullaby tone
but rather than acquiesce, like the snow melting into crystal lit rivulets on my study pane
i take notes on the song
ponder its origin
over sweet and black winter ale, antique keys passed from skeleton to skeleton
like blind men strung apart over 70 years trying to describe the same elephant
while the more important things sleep in the rooms below them,
the rumble of electric heaters through their walls and the wind against their window
dreaming never of elephants
sometimes giraffes or lions
but mostly things that mean things
only to themselves
as we all do
those of us that sleep
or dream
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