fidelity

The dusk finally turns off the burners and we are at last arrived at night. Locked doors and drawn blinds, the juice in the rind, dripping glasses of ice and pulp. The hallways narrow and gape, as the lights go out. The scorch marks and the context clues, sodden with shadows, all blacks and blues. We stretch into the solemnity of the padded phrase, saying our part as if pleaded. Giving the words away. 

The hours crawl to beat the clock. The moment makes itself known. The hiccup in the rhythm section, the bending of the bars. The applause hip and hesitant, the next track another trip in the old wayback machine, Beatle prophecy proselytizers and the next age gurus. Time always a cold accounting, time always running out. The chorus in a loop and the sky tumbling down. 

There’s an orchestral arrangement if you can read the sheets. There’s an a cappella version if everyone forgets their part. There’s always a song waiting somewhere. There’s always singing in the mix. The way the feathers pause as they gather up the wind. The way we are given to fall.