Shapeless silver-shod moonlight splashes
the polished floorboards: where I like to stand
at 3 am
while your breathing follows an arc
back to sleep
in my arms
While I wait
for an arrival of steady rhythm:
rise and fall, rise and fall
and the soft weight of sleep
to hold your weight against me.
The curtain is half-open against the quiet world
where everyone is asleep in their own silence
But I can wait
I’ve got all night
And no where else to be.
Except for the ghosts of houses, an abandoned town
has no memory.
The footprints of man and building dissolve
into gathering ground.
An abandoned river with banks of rust
carries poison-weighted water
away from the rain off the distant bluff.
Rain is merciful, gentle here, no weeping
for open scars or lost fortunes.
The pillagers are gone, having reaped
what they could, leaving us to sow
while soft rain seeps into wounded earth
through piled waste, and taints itself.
Below the scars and wounds and waste
still waters in a forgotten river
watch the lazy sky.