12 O'Clock Muse

Lunch time muse. Watch
the day unfold languorous
clouds streaky wisped
on intense smoke of skies.

I half-close my eyes.
I listen to blues
played cool as the day,
thin-fingered in riffs,
exponentially timed ups
and downs, counted spaces
that fall between trees,
the first drifts of leaves
turning brown.

Drums brush a rhythm
like memory's night.
Your eyes change like autumn,
green-brown, gold-rimmed.
Your eyes shut like Sun going down.
In the breadth of a whisper
your eyes catch on dream,
between need and soothe.

Music plays, blues roll oceans
of season that fly past midday
or spread on the midnight of sighs
that begin and end in song.