No dogs bark at this hour,
Desolate, an abandoned field burnt by the sun,
Dry shaving curls on a workshop floor long unswept.
I hear a motorcycle roar along a distant road,
Harsher than the sound of sawing wood.
Then silence thickens like concrete putty sealing
Joints and crevices of a room
Gradually deafening to the slightest vibration.
The world is asleep, I am awake.
Passing time heaves, a resting animal.
Now is the moment to descend into stillness
Deep as darkness enfolding underground rivers,
Delicate as a tissue broken by a cough.
I am solitary as a metal tool
Seeking the warm grasp of a skillful hand.
Before the smallest beginning of a noise like a flint flake
Tears into the fabric of the night, I will take long draughts, cupping my hands
Descending as birds into the springs of tranquility.
Originally published in This Dark Matter (January 30, 2015)
|Antique wall clock|