My poem for a late March night.

I wrote this four years ago, during another insomniac March.

“March Midnight Window,” by Eric Robert Nolan

Cold glass.
One white palm against
A March midnight window.
The hour is struck.
In blackness an indistinct
Day is made another.

Clouds seclude the moon.
To those outside,
The lithe, pale “L” of my hand may be
An alabaster letter,
A sign to other sleepless.
Each, in eisegesis,
Divines its meaning in
Their own midnight hearts —
Whether love or loss I do not know.

(c) 2015 Eric Robert Nolan



Photo credit: Nyttend [Public domain]

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