As the moon drags the dark behind her
A chink appears in the cloth of night,
Letting in the morning’s orange glow.
But I wake to a fog,
An unnamed sadness lapping at my throat,
A quiet dread as insubstantial as ash on
water.
So I’ll be waiting in the usual place,
By the River of Forgetting,
As the day unfurls ahead.
A week’s worth of cloud flees the sky
And shadows spring fully formed from the
bitumen
Shielding all my secrets from you.
But here we are,
You rattling around in my head full of hell
As I spend these hours beside myself.
But in the end
I wouldn’t spill a drop of you.
Simply watch night’s blue glow caress your
skin.
Copyright, Bryan R Ward 2012
