Oh but the light is always leaving,
our prayers wrung so hollow,
crumbs stuck to the plate.
Dusk only settles when the reckoning is wrong,
those lingering persuasions of sun,
the unintended blessings mentioned
as the passing of tired burdens.
The palette chooses grays and blues,
the black coffee bitter,
the moon but a husk.
The bassline beats at blood and stucco
the plaster all but peeling
with these painted metal fears.
Night arrives with out an escort.
Night arrives without hope or spite.
The dogs are always barking,
all strangers their neighbors.
Warning through fence and shrub,
calling out through window and wall.
The light has left us here.
No comments:
Post a Comment