There is a way light lies
when all the seeing is done,
a sight spent of trick and treat
the umbrage of existence filled
as the shadows let loose,
freeing the stays of form and
the familiar, letting the dark
insist. The sunken tone
dusk remits carrying from
mouth to mind, the words
cracked open between
the grit and grin of yellowed
teeth and troubled tongues.
The dreams ooze and writhe,
every name and open grave,
every bone and blot revealed.
The dead keep dying, waiting on
their stories to drain out,
waiting on the honor mentioned
to be loosed as dust and sighs.
The losing light giving way,
breath slow and shallow,
eyes drowning in silt and wishes,
every promise a stone sinking in the sea.
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