The Hours of Sadness

Between the hours of 4 and 6 am
I am awake in the roiling night
It's creeping sadness
A darkening bruise left by the falling sun

Slumber's arms won't hold me
I am met with sand
Between my toes
A booby trap
Of old photographs
And the weightlessness
of solitude
A ghost
Moustached mouth
Feathers brushed
Across my cheek
Lips pursed
In indecision
Overlapping mine.