A Nightly Tide of Words

So still I lay- my breath
of tossed cotton falls
flat off my cheeks,
my eyes yield choked light yet
to suspended skeletons of voice.

Your words stay. I let them down
cold lifetimes away,
yet my sore heart recalls,
lets their echoes light up through
tunneling mazes, grown in glass
hollow with the din of wait.

They'll turn through me, soon
in touches loud with laughter,
soft in the rustle of song-
we'll fly through the bars
of the shuttered city night.

 But, dear muse, I'll sleep now-
not another tangled ode,
turning over a reasoned fire,
not another blind wanderer
setting out with bones of mist!