The Night Jar

For the longest time,
the tin and phosphorous stars seemed to hold pose in the sky--
the jasmine night blooms dismissed notions of mourning,
and yellow-white candles embraced their wicks
as if flame were dreams,
and their bright sleep knew the gods' blessing to continue, endless.

For a charmed while,
the moon shrugged off her chill, orange-warmed by breezed leaves--
the nightjar hid herself along a wet-black branch above us,
and though she seemed to be only rhyme and rumor
tucked between pointed wings,
she carried her children in her mouth to move them, secretly.

For just those moments, however sustained or brief they really were,
everything around us bent kindly our way--
all green things, and all feathered,
brought us our own names and the desired other's
to build ourselves, our keenest hunger, and our softest satiety from.

We were there,
for the longest time,
for that charmed while,
for just those moments,

and then?
Then we weren't,
and the way back had burned behind us
as inevitable and harshly bright as sunrise.
_______

for Mag #205