instructions mislaid

wet is the colour of thinking
this is the season of lulls
the moon, as if lit from within
you hum three notes in your sleep
just the sky, unmaking itself
melting, a luminous pool
on the other side of breathing?
moths tying knots around streetlight
the hymn book pages sung smooth
two gulls, apostrophes cut loose
then mist, rain in syllables
re-reading the scrawl of cirrus
the rhyme, the lick, the reason