Midnight Remarks

THE DAY BECKONS ME

When the stones relent and their disfigurement of the flesh on my back ceases,

Though the brown of my hair continues to meander through their beloved clover.

When the scuttle of wings and barbed legs no longer draws skin taut against my bones,

And my nose runs as dry as my inept throat, though the breeze still kisses it raw.

When the owlets embrace me too tightly for the sleepers’ glassy eyes to see,

And only Vesper catches the way cicada-song illumes the wane of my chest.