A solitary soul stirs
this night around
its geared dial.
Icy on the rocks,
all that matters
bends the steel air
sparks subdue any singes
While other carbon bodies
lie in their nests
heaving gentle breaths
through resting rib cages
my feathers fall out
and the kitten chases them
under the couch.
Watching the speed of time
and loaded with momentum,
and anticipation
for the light that breaks
anything it touches,
it dawned over me,
(after all) an awareness
that all feathers fall
at the same speed coin wishes
sink
under the weight of water-
sometimes out of sight.
The brown widow and I weave
simultaneous gossamer threads
from what we have left
of the night that never
imposes its intimate knowledge
without our consent
and an entwined desire
to witness this place
we seem to not belong
but are required to prey in
for survival.
The kitten purrs in a ball,
the humans snore, fetal in their beds,
while I draw out long lines
the nocturnal pace
themselves
into the unforgivable light.
Artwork by Vilhelm Hammershøi (1864-1916), 'Figure reading at a table at night', medium-chalk, c. 1891 in Public Domain.
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