There's still light in the sky when the moon makes its come back, a slip thin smile spilling over the edge of the world. It waxes and wanes, all the while wandering in the space between the sky and dreaming. It falls and rises the most inside our reckless minds, the brimming light and the dead sunken stone. The bountiful goddess or the rock stuck in the sky like a named sword, waiting for some king. The neighborhood is abruptly all howl and alarm, the streets swept with sirens, the yards scattered with dogs. The twilight settles like sediment, like a sentiment settling a bet.
The ragged pines are swaddled in shadow as the earth steps over the edge, the sky clotted with birds and dreams. The night comes on with its toothless grin and its crooked gait, stirring the deepening breaths and the nameless hollows. The hunger a thing of life and limb as it moves through the dazzling gaps between action and intent. An electric leavening sparking through reach and grasp, an empty that must be heard above the din and rush of this untoward blood and appetite. The world remade from sticks and stones, the words the only ache acknowledged. This vision of existence the pull of the heedless swarm.
I sit outside and write these letters. My finger feel out the form as the darkness stalks the world. All this burning so much smoke billowing in the breeze, this spark another flicker in the night. The lovely and the brutal so vivid upon every skin, eyes always open wherever they may long to look. I speak aloud beneath the sounds of animals and traffic, a coyote always scrambling from scrap to sop. I speak aloud though it is only the collateral of each labored breath. What of my heart, what of Heaven? The clock on the wall and the calendar scribbled over with regrets. The words I leave awaiting you to grant them meaning. My legacy the rumor never put to rest.
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