Standing in another doorway,
another stair, another spot, she keeps
this hoping cup: bluely moonbeam
and auburn rim—just a little longer still.
It’s chaos see, that drives her heart,
a disorderness within the veins.
Pumping fast and of firefly origin.
It comes and goes with wicked flow,
quiet and steadfast beneath the blazer of her skin.
In every glance there is a pulse, that beats:
one, two, three – one, two, four – one, two, five, none.
She looses numbers as she looses time;
her fingers curl in scratching prose,
she looses light in a flash.
Every shadow followed me, and
every time I turned to it I had nothing I could give.
Blown apart however the piecing together;
I had a lantern in my cage,
that grew the flame with my breathing exercises.
All my lifeless friends lined the bed:
floppy ears and whiskered maws,
whitely furred and glassy eyed—
each act of loyalty my saving grace;
Lonely noons by the window, they sat in stoic stare
waiting for my company.
And every night I rapped upon the door
my closet chamber opened.
I hid inside and made a nest for myself,
weeping with the silent wall.
The saying goes that it’s a war. What war am I?
I’ve waved every flag but there is no one
at the frontlines.