All the lights are out, and the bloom of shadow has grown past abundance. The darkness spills through the windows, it seeps down from the ceiling and up from the floor. This house now built of blindness. The very air bruised and blackened. The saying given up for breathing, the words lost in so much ink.
So much for the rising silt of candle smoke. So much for the ritual incandescence built to burn out quick. The hour circles the block, the same wan feelings and the same blank looks, the same few songs playing again and again. The old dog shakes his collar somewhere in the dark. The cat makes her own rules with the obstinacy of claws. I find a light, and the brightness blinds me. I find these keys, and unlock another moment. I untangle the time.
These differences all add up the same. The lapse, the drowse, the failing flight. The ghostly moon grinning, airplanes altering the constellations, the phone dying before all the consolations are through. Midnight passed, midnight quartered, midnight measured in fingers and grasps. I lacked light to find my way, and was lost for a moment in such unshelled brightness. The words and things all mingled, each going home alone.
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