The moon hung so high I could hardly see it, still stunned by all the stars and secret words. The day crawled along, toting that bale, dragging them chains. Dawn drawled by without any complications, my eyes jumping from bird to building. Every brick and feather seen and believed. Every tree and car parked just so, the revelations all small and patient. The mystery worn so thin it all but glows. It dreams and shimmers, pretty as a pile of wishes. If it wasn't for my color-blindness, I would swear it was the color of your eyes.
You are a smile upon a midnight winter, a beacon in a season of ice and ruin. You are the moonstruck cliffs, you are the clockwork tide. You carry a thousand patched up sacraments, the bittersweet trinity of yesterday, today, and tomorrow. You are the smoke and the sear, the rattle and the rail. You are the sweat of love and labor. You are the song set free in the wind. I know you are caught red-handed like the rest of us. I know you leave a trace of trouble upon everyone you meet. Your fingerprints and footfalls have all gone missing. With-in these clumsy margins, the world so broke without.
I am that hour of poison upon the clock of no hope. I am that land where you cast your shadow, walking off into the setting sun. I am the line stricken through, the candle flame lit. I am there in the burning empty hours, written upon the lining of your ghost. Sharper than salt. paler than false pride. My name waits unspoken, an incantation entangled with your tongue. That welt of light that paints the bare flesh of your mornings, that ancient craving amid the savaged bones of your nights. A glistening upon your skin, a crease bourn on your brow. Always there in the clot and flow, carrying your busted crown. Always so close you could call out across the thousand miles. I am with you in this silence, as near as any dream.