It’s A White Night

It’s a white night
in a white gown,
lights are dancing in
black windowsills.

In an instant, I’m a crowd;
an infant fevering
for heavy music to sing.
My prison is cumulonimbus.

La la la la la.
The opera is inside of me.
Look inside, there’s
a phantom cradling a breeze.

I will become
a storm under white sheets.
Waiting to be swept up,
my weak field,
my broken wheat.

I see your
Tropic of Cancer
and how tumorous you can be
but I will be
better than the whiteness
that is surviving me.

At that time
I will sow the sound
of wind chimes
over lullabies.

Mozart will come sit with me
about your layers –
we won’t need them,
words don’t mean anything
after you have seen

how beautiful the whiteness
can be.

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5 thoughts on “It’s A White Night

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