Sunday, December 9, 2012

night fall

Give away that crowd of stars, give up this pile of wonder. The gathered stones won't give away the grave. The thought slow going, patches of drought flowers. The parched throat left over from the dusk. Wear away tour heels on the bones of the dreams that drowned you. Render a feather, thether down the lightning strike. Worry away that last morsel of the night.

The day resided still and calm, covered in dollops of melted light. Grave still and grave sure, the day is painted on the glass. It holds the shape until the last of the light is drained away, dusk along so quick the sun hardly has a say. Nightfall arrives like a cat, down the fence and up a tree. Bones ache and flesh trembles, a lone dog barking out his frustrations takes on another color when the nightfall comes to call.

This is the story of the poem unwritten. This is the story of the story never told. The night and day swap outfits, feelings running wild and hard. The heart at last so breathless, the mind so far still lost. Only things and the skins of things. Dark thoughts and bad omens, trip over the shoe string, catch your toe on the rug. The sky drops these feasts of lights and longing, the flattened out constellations, the cycle of hiding and finding the moon. The shadows push out their limbs and roots, thinking in deep absences and stark limits. The window turns to blackened glass and the shadows crawl and plot. Give up that last sliver of hope, let your heart feed the night.

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