Dear Sorry Night,
How the stars glisten –
A cliché opening to a favored night cloaked behind
The maroon drapes disguised as the sleeper’s sky
The roof top tiles shift uncomfortably
Eyeing the morning memories now overcast with a cinnamon glow
Too naïve to be claimed by the moon
Underneath, the mustard ceiling offers no solace
To the resting body seeping in a thrashing soul.
The drapes clung heavily,
Likely never bothered by the spring breeze,
Surely never woken by the winter wind
Deeper still, murky thoughts swirled like
Long, black, weightless wisps of hair gliding in water,
Seducing the translucent smoke borne from the sage incense
Pirouetting away to life
As they swirled, some smeared a denim ink birthmark
Where the artist merges with the art mid-creation.
Indisputably, yes, in this case the medium is the message –
The smudged thought, the trashing soul
The bruised palm, the resting body
Unconcerned by the glistening stars,
Unbeknownst to the mustard ceiling,
They remained muted by the matte locks
Without a fragrant whisper, not even a cry to touch,
Only a cold, steel echo of a well-yearned past,
Perhaps well-earned then.
A soft sheen of a dissipated shooting star trails out of sight to
Cue the curtain call to an act well versed
In silent torment,
The mind, the tiger, the hurricane, the third,
The bewildered debris from the raging storm search for a final landing.
The torrential rain extinguished
By the plum pool of humanity’s finest sangria
Barely seen by the still body,
Only felt by the writhing soul
Here now, a footing found:
Can the moon produce a rainbow as gorgeous as the sun’s?
Does it go unnoticed, swallowed by the night’s black defervescence?
Or does it not bother to try?
Knowing, afraid, too ashamed it can never outshine the sunbeam’s blinding shadow.
All in clockwork’s timing
The eclipse begins, the eyes close.
It is dark now but tomorrow, tomorrow the maroon drapes will lift
And red will peak through
On lips and purses,
On tongues and cheeks,
On nails and flowers too.
Tomorrow,
Once again for those sun-kissed
Once again for those well missed.
Sincerely,
Images by Mark Basarab and Jeremy Bishop.
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