last light

The shadows creep straight up the tree, without motion or effort. They ease up, driving the light higher and higher, until there is only the sky left for the fleeting missions of light. The sky enfolding its flocks and glimmers, hosting smoke, carrying clouds. I face east, tracing the lines and the textures that dissolve into the dusk. The moon is askew above the garage, Venus blazing away just across the street. There is no hunt to join, no passion to partake. Just this stillness, this dying shine.

Smoke curls above the binding of flame. It unravels in the wind, rising above the slick wings and the worried crowds. I waste my breath in burn and fume, silent and worse for wear. The season spills down the ache of this dirty street, the dark and the cold coming down from the depths of the atmosphere. The season crisps each leaf and calls upon the frost and the fog. I wait as the day collapses all around me, another restless shape taken by the night.

There is a place to put the ashes. There is a shelf where these squandered days reside. There are markers left and things taken, a shifting of dish and spoon. All of these star crossed obsessions, these broken romances folded before the turn is dealt. All of these dreams kept well past their expiration dates, moldering in the detritus of the details. I know there are beginnings, stories that have only just begun to bloom. But I have earned this moment, the feathery breaking of veins in each fresh bruise, the invective and the wreath. The last light passes, venturing ever west. I go inside as the shadows settle in.