lamps wore away
at the dark
close the gate gentle
make it chime
close it like a delicate thing
as if just leaving
looking in
upon a sleeping child
isn’t that how hearts
should be handled
footsteps made faint
by grass
no knock required
no doorbell
rattling the rooms
just the soft cry
of a rusted hinge
the susurrus
of your lost
long song
the smoke
of my soul
you’re the last light of the year
the late light of the day
that touches the old fire
that still clings to the tips of the trees
in my haunted park
your flame throws bird shadows
over the walls of my heart
that have never known sky
I sunbathed
in your shadow
the scars from our dreams
sew us together
the white of a waterfall
the moon hiding half its face
beneath summer sun
share the shadow
of a brolly with you
within its soft circle
we’ll listen to the rain
in each other
I see you
the suits of shadows
lined with gold
stories to temper steel to
when the story falls silent
the folds folded
asleep inside the blade
you’re the barn owl
born from the ground bones of a bonfire
in the font turned firepit
at the heart of my crumbled cathedral
I wonder if the candle
is sucking smoke
back into its body
held together
by threadbare threads
my frayed feathers
stroke the sky
from the ground