Shifting times
Sleep departs more often now
seeking a more comfortable companion
I find my breathing
has become a difficult conversation
the doves are too low in the birches
not safe from south or east
where they huddle new eggs
an arm’s length from my waking
this is the age of tucked in pants
coffee many hours before dawn
a listening for predators
the vixen craw an illegal cat scuttle
starlings build their own messy choice
I shine a torch on palpable wants
coo coo some testimony
meet myself emerging grey
if they move in volition
an easy rest on a higher branch
these saving hands impractical
for plain sight resolutions
otherwise to form the night’s pleadings
the shallow light commiseration
incant a proper whisper
or stay still forever sentinel
etched between needs of the strayed
pencil thin drawn to lines
rubbed fitting textures composed
in night the charcoal wavers
James Walton Poetry 