TONIGHT’S EARLY MORNING
I open my window in the middle of tonight’s
Early morning after the nightly thunderstorms
To hear the cry of a lone bird flying through the fog
And looking for a place safe and dry, his wings
Weighted down with water and sleepiness
The way I am weighted down with the memories
Of her laughter and her eyes darker than tonight’s
Early morning before the sun is sighted and the only
Sound to be heard besides the dripping of the water
From the roof to the ground is a long bird flying,
Crying through the fog after the rain.
Author Bio: John Tustin
John Tustin is currently suffering in exile on the island of Elba but hopes to return to you soon. fritzware.com/johntustinpoetry contains links to his published works.