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.
|