Wednesday, March 2, 2011

wishful thinking

The cement eases the light into the night, shines just a little, holds on for awhile. That pale glow that endures in the eye, entangles the memory, every thing seeming root and leaf. Don't bother trying to find the horizon. Don't bother trying to scan the stars. The wings we are left with too overwhelming to spread. The heights we will rise to always on some other shoulders, on a trust built only of dust and words.

So I see you to your bones, I see the pressure you exert against the weight of so much world. You are all wait and wary, all tooth and bite. You glide through these sullen ribbings, a voice so slow and sweet. You are that promise of promises, these speakings against the grain of the night. I see you so lush in stillness, so clever when you dash. You stride through all webbing, losing each connection.

There is a light behind the closed door. There is a dream wailing in the dark. The shamblings of unseen chance, shuffling in the night. Once I would have told you what to do. The trick of the maze, the knotting of the riddle. Once the words were that near, always one whisper apart. The door is opened, the blindness comes inside.

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