come along

Dusk comes with the blessings of ranchera music scraping down the asphalt and a crow sliding on its belly across the icy wind. The light leaves quietly. Soon it’s just me, all cold fingers and pale shins, typing away at the vacancy. Soon it’s just me, smoking and writing to fill in the blanks. Dusk comes on despite the sorry reception. The night weighs down and the dusk comes on.

I always end up outside past my expirations. I always end up ruminating as the night fills in. Too much space and all this empty. The towering firmament and the chain of ache. The carcass torn and burned from the lashes of attachment, the existence livid with insistent wishes. I drag this shambles across the unmarked map, the way made from the destinations we ignore. Songs so old, your ancestors missed them the first time around. Songs so old, you might already know them.

Once, come dusk, I would gaze your way. Once I would mind your horizon when the sun went down. Things change, right and wrong, the spell is broken, the game goes on. Something from that dream of returning to the deep forest. Something of the dream of doorknobs rattling in the hungry night. Now I mostly watch my step come the midnight rambler. Now mostly I feel my way come dawn. I would call you too, if only you’d come along.