Somnambulists

SOMNAMBULISTS / John Steffney A redwing slurs against the pewter sky. Susurrous wind, and the leaves wait for instruction. The sun burns bright iodine. We watch it splinter then flatten into a glaze. Time for the weight of shadow under the white insomnia of stars. The night cruises Uke a hearse, a last rite, its cargo of stars an indneration of goodbyes, final fareweU to our entangled Uves, last orbit in probabUity's blind curve, the whole estate of consciousness closing its gates, disinheriting itself, accepting, even whUe resisting, learning to trust exhaustion. The Missouri Review · 297 ...