the downgrade

The night builds up at the window, spilling through the screen, seeping down the walls. Curled up with our broken bones and moon sop hearts, we wait for the transient shine. Another miracle to witness, another love that done you wrong. These rooms thick with wishes, these wash away stars. You are a word awaiting speaking. You are a spoke in the wheel. You turn in turn.

The clock climbs the walls, the ashes get everywhere. The flesh avails all the works of words. The talking of the tower, the seer of the ten thousand ways. The litter of choice, the calliope bright baubles hung instead of stars. Thrones and crowns and family trees. The lies of lineage, the monkey do virtues common to the critter. The law of want and whim, high on the same old limb. The moon waits up for you.

How I long for bedtime stories, for the rituals of happenstance. The rules written on the wall, the shoes all lined up by the door. The windows open to the woods at night. The places that you make together, the worlds you leave behind. This world slipping away with the moon missing the window. This life among strangers. The long march into night.