night

the night is still young but inside
it feels like this dark passage
has matured and leaves me fatigued.
i search the night sky for a moon,
a beacon but only see reflections

of a blank stare hoping for some
sudden change, hoping for a ghost
or a miracle or a demon lover,
whichever comes first.
in the glass panes, dirty on the outside

and cold on the inside there are dark eyes
gazing at me. vaguely familiar eyes,
i'm sure i knew them once
when i was younger though i'm not sure
they were any more joyous back in that life,

back in that tale.
perhaps if i open the window,
open the floodgates, something will rush in,
blow these old letters and toss the swan quills
into a little storm with enough force

to bring life back into these old tissues.
the spirit gets refreshed but flesh grows tired
from constant re-use without another's touch,
from constant scrapes without another's caresses.
bones grow brittle from bitterness and

vessels get stiff and hardened from bitter tears.
the night is still young but inside
it feels like the next day's sunset,
all things fallen ahead of themselves
looking for a way out, for a gentle repose.

feb 14, 2007