a light dark thing


It is stark night

naked angles, planes of light

flipping reflections of day

like silent film



These sounds exist:

all paddy pawed the cat

paces somewhere;

the crickets crinkle the air

the breath breath breath of sleeping.


Still – except for the tumbling,

dark – except for the light

silent – except for all these pinprick sounds

that exit and enter

theatrical.  The wind applauds in the trees.


You turn and turn

a bird in my stomach

a clasp of wing and stretch

tumbled against the inner body’s wall

feather light, a light dark thing

pitching into the unknown

as fearless as flight.


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