Through Old Inn Glass Darkly (Port Townsend)

by FTS Miles   Jul 13, 2018

29 May 2018

The stormwind stirs the leaves
in alternating rustles and roars,
occasionally gust-shaken chimes
ringing manic in the night.
I watch dark fingers in the sky
prod and pull and push an
ever-shifting mass of glow
about the sky, sometimes
abalone, oft times bone-white.
Yet always through this
old shimmered inn glass darkly
I know the moon still darts free
despite the hunting tempest.


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