crickets thrum on the still of the star
hidden by murky incandescent veils of circus clouds
stirring
ruching into the corners of this night
dark & belligerent
drunken & tight
echoes of restlessness root at my heart
while the ghost of your corporeal & tattered self
shove the borders of our story to the edge of some splintered
shabby shelf .
.... upon which hangs a forested cloak
weaved of this gypsy-love tale ancient & battered
shadowed
infinite
time means nothing, but please
STOP banging into the fragile seams of my soul
stop and
listen
to the stillness of the stars
hold this moment
indigo blue
yellow-bird yellow & hope red
feel the weight & brilliance of that story
story-dust
star
dust
and the magic pockets
of t
his
dark night
still.