Go read the shadows: every page is blank.
You look on absence as the cloudbanks shiver,
penumbras lapsing from moon’s fitful light.
You see by silhouettes when it’s this late.
You listen to the sap and pith which slithers
in your flesh. A flash of rapture, and you thank
the unseen gods who offer you this wash
of weather, though you never quite believe.
A star is aiming for your brooding face,
but squints away, gradations more diffuse
within the skyglow’s contaminated sieve.
You think, I too will die, although you wish
for only tenderness—but something strange
would keep intruding; keeps going berserk.
A still black lake is crossed by two bright birds,
an underworld. May every lover, in bed
alone tonight, be safe, you pray. Then darkness
speaks in spells of thunder and fell sparks of rain.