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Poetry By
  Zach West

Published on: 9/12/2005
Witching Hour

If I allow my eyes to unfocus just so
in the bluing light I can remake you.

You are weeping, next to me in bed.
We face each other,
mouths soft and silent.
Looking into your eyes as we lie
together is like peering through
the branches of a silver maple
just as the light fails.

All the fist weight of day recedes, leaving room for night to seep
into the air like a bruise.
Light is an overbearing lover,
but when he sleeps dream-forms wake,
protean, changling demons
of a thousand faces chanting
every constellation of night song:
etcetera, mad cricketing,
slow dirge-airs rising and falling, long unbroken brush strokes.

In this moment the walls of the world
wane thin a delicate as rice paper,
and if your eyes do not fail
with the light you can see shades
behind that creasing veil:
clutch   unfurl   wait.

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