Mind Arousing

Why is the poet’s voice most arresting
when duty requires other agency?
At 4am the sphinx stretches and purrs.
What scratches her back to make her sing?
What rubs her velvet nose and tugs gently
at her scruff, forehead to forehead, eyes closed,
invisible to even what sees in the dark?
Only a nocturnal spirit dares wage war against dawn.
Agitated night submits, goes down, quiets
herself only under the weight of a rising sun.

About thepoetsglass

Professor, poet, philosophical dilettante, plus some other impressively heady alliterations. Instructional designer and copywriter. Cognitive neuroscientist by night. Self-diagnosed coffee addict, sometime dancer, brooding bibliophile, and an always salty sailor.
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