In which I read …
You can’t see clouds at night, cloaked
light shields cracks and opens
eyes once locked; I will not write you
ugly, as the world can be.
There on night’s silverback
we caught some platinum slice of fate
glinting in the brutal rise,
and we came falling undone.
No reason for the shelves
emptied and undusted, lining
the heart. Orphaned
clockworks and ringstains, littered.
Broke dead and word-drunk but
chapped lips crack; we are as free
as silence and we share it well;
as well as us.
Some nights there’s nothing, what
nothing and nothing left
to do, but watch the words