Tip tapping.

The mornings dawn 

rises amidst ferocious 

winds, branches swaying 

in anger, tip tapping, 

tip tapping at my window. 

Sleep evades me,

Tip tapping, tip tapping. 

A lonesome voice calls 

into the night, shouting,

A repeated name, a cat? 

A dog? I hear the fear 

reverberate in her pitch.

Gulls scream to be heard.

Secrets tumbling from the

tips of lush green leaves.

Again she calls out. 

Emptiness follows. 

Just the tip tapping. 

Tip tapping.

As angry branches

hit against my window.
Karen Hayward ©2016