Mosquitoes are marathon runners with wings.
When I stop to drink in the sky at sunset
I become their water. Tonight my legs
Will be polka-dotted pink and I
Will be an ancient woman
Who did not fear the dark and its sounds.
This trail goes all the way around the world and
This part, full of silver stars,
Makes my battery-operated candle seem
A crime. I keep it turned off. The night is cool and
Soft like lullabies in autumn with open windows,
Except this is the start of spring.
Somewhere near by there is an owl
Singing his death song, drowning out the train
The way hurricanes drown cities. If Poseidon
Is in the Pacific then his brother is here,
Walking these fallen trees, reading the quiet
Like it’s poetry and I am the next book
He wants to read. The dead here see me like He does, but
They don’t each have their own bird to make me stop.
They have their eyes that upon finding me
Turn my heart into a bell, loud, ringingringing,
Beatingbeating, each beat a seed that plants
A black rose. They grow in the back of my mind
While the owl sounds like he’s closer.