Mesh Windows

And silhouettes stand against a newly cloudless sky

A lone light 

From a windowsill

Eyes adjust

In patterns of sleep filled sparks

Asking for freedom from

Fluorescent bulbs

Allowed to think

In pens and paper and dirt under fingernails

From a 10pm headlamp

Wanting better words and better lines

Another light gone

Disappearing tendrils of empty sunlight

Spread atop cabin roofs

No repetition of sound

Just dramatic turn of phrase

From his ink and mine

Demanding attention and not caring who receives it

Window sill light still fighting falling eyes

Whose young child had already gone hours ago

While an old one wishes thoughts could be translated, transferred, transmitted

Onto page

And images could be complex networks of emotions

Heard through time

A snapshot of restless giants

Shimmering across a line of sight

Eyes adjusted

To scribbles in a starlight