Here,as the
newly-satined night
grasps the remains of the day,
thoughts flare and spiral
like fireflies.
And words crawl
across the page,
meaningless as
the night-jar`s voice.
In the blank face of a window,
the town is bathed in sleep
and burnt-eyed longing.
There is a sound,
a heartbeat,
a sadness of
solitary footsteps
and the fierce glare
of lamplight
condemns me,
knowing I will never capture
moon and stars
on an April night
or the you-shaped silence
which grows and grows.
