Monday, June 21, 2021

Some Night At a Window

Naked feet on bare floors, elbows on the sill,

hands cup the lines of a jaw,  mirror


connecting the stars above the babbling towers 

whose shadows cloaked our daylight,

beyond the reach of 


hands cupping the lines of missing faces. Eyes 

reach anyway, holy useless as first songs

and the first games in the garden, 

out and out with the tops of our artifices

but not always the endless lines

of bodies in skies 

where the children of gardens 

still hide in the dark folds where invisible stars become


— and a new one, here 

— in the quiet depths behind these sigh songs,


the lines of ourselves slipping,

and no names yet for the unborn

when we never named the dead


— in the depths behind these breaths, 

reaching lines toward letters, 

ever into some beginning,

say the word.



Image: "Window at Night" by Victor Reynolds on flickr under a Creative Commons Attribution Non-Commercial No-Derivs 2.0 License.


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