I Am Part Of The Night

It is always the moon whispering
with foul breath to me,
while stars drip like bad oil
paint, chips in a perfect, black sky.

The sun doesn’t say anything. It just sits
in its place, waiting for the day
it can finally rest.
I let the sun go, on its own,
but I try to join the night.
I try to wrap my body, like silk,  around
time that sleeps,
that nods with my conversation
and smiles
in agreement.

We speak a language together, of
the deep ocean’s waves of regret
that cry into the dry sand of nostalgia,
creating mud of desire,
longing for its peaceful aquatic home
below the drama of tides;
of every shadow that
slices through jealous silence,
lonely crickets,
hollow frogs,
desperate bats free of their caves;

I will never be involved with a burning star –
I am part of the night.
I am a dead reflection of light
watching the world sleep.

I Do A Lot Of Wishing These Days

He stands,
as bright as the streetlight,
just as tall
outside, on another street
that I’d like to know

his hand is empty
his heart put out in the concrete
under cigarette ash

my blood is a drum roll
I am timed by his steps,
paralyzed

but this does not exist
this night is a blanket hanging
over the sun
and we will fade

just like before
when, at first, we planted
seeds in the beautiful dark
then fed them vegetable oil
by mistake

I wish you were real