(for Patricia)

Sleep is a train
That you missed tonight,

And now your mind
Is a junkyard

Of broken feelings.
Lit up like the dawn,

Your thoughts are late creatures
Seeking deep holes.

Your wintered heart beats
For tomorrow’s cold pulse.

And somewhere beyond
Your lonely house,

Quick tongues dig for love
And forests fall for kings.

Peter Thabit Jones © 2016

Published in SELECTED POEMS (Bilingual: English/Romanian), 2016