The Night

There are people who say to the thing,
“I wish you wouldn’t do that.
I wish you wouldn’t look for me
when I never look for you, alright?”
And there are those whose shoes teeter
on the cold rail of an iron bridge
in the middle of the night, who say,
“Listen, I’m coming for you!”
before throwing their bodies down into iron-hard ice,
black water, because they wanted something
from the night it didn’t want to give.
I suppose these different outcomes
are the only poetry it has,
or ever will. Iron and ice water
and cinematic shadows
convinced someone it was a story
and it needed an actor.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s