Wane

Once again
Breathless,
Watching light recede,
And too late.

Moon has tipped
Past full,
And though I held tight
To shivery silver,
Ecstasy and joy are always
The first surfaces
To feel the creeping shadow.

Try to remember
The remedies —
Black watermelon juice,
Sun on skin,
And being in a body —
But today
All I want
Is sour wine
And ashes.

It’s getting worse,
The ghost-growing time
Won’t let me be.
Around the corner,
Twenty grackles
Flocking ’round a feeder
Put Rumi’s crowd of sorrows
In mind.
And I can’t outrun them.
Just not fast enough
Anymore.

And there is too much
Wanting
From those present
And passed,
It leads to this crackling
Along the wires,
Until I can’t believe
The whole house
Hasn’t gone up.

Nights like this,
Everything good feels gone,
And I should turn down
Sensation,
But to tell you the truth,
I’ve already spent enough years
Living dead.

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About Emily

I may or may not have: A. Dirt B. Ink C. Paint D. Wool under my fingernails.

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