Until the Full Moon Has Its Say

Let It Be Night

35 Let It Be Night Blix handed me five years. Four I’ve chewed up, tossed away. ● I’m pedaling my Raleigh, spokes in the wind, mottled music easing off toward evening. Just gone yellow, a forsythia stretches from mud where no one planted it, leans left as though it hears a scrap of talk on the road. ● A baffle of green, darkening, November closing the store. That’s three months of my twelve. Nine to go. Maybe I get reborn once more. ● I’m watching for a hole in the clouds and the sudden scarred face of the moon. 36 ● My love’s slow breath rasped across her lips in her last hour, asking, almost shaping a word. ● If I come new next summer, let it be my skinny self, watching by the tracks as boxcars rumble their tonnage west, shaking the clay. Let it be night. Under a streetlight, let three girls be talking, sorting shadows long in the grass. ...