Poem-a-Day, Entry 311--

Late Morning.

Receding into the haze of noontime,

      a soft dream runs spread thin,

          wandering,

                             wafting,

             where before it may have drilled,

       parading through fanfares lost amid

                     the night's repast--

          now lost only in the fumblings

                of a return to headaches,

                   and wondering 

                              where the day
       
                          has gone .