Conversations at Night
The nighttime is dark, darker than usual,
despite stars and stars and stars.
My midnight confidant is gone;
I have to let her go.
Twenty eight days smiling, yawning, winking
in the night:
she needs a night off once in a while too.
On these nights my heart feels
empty like the sky,
not a lack of feeling, of love, but
a lack of heaviness, the memories
of loss, of running away, of being left.
They get pulled by the vacuum
left by her absence, and my sadnesses, the
sadnesses of the world
slide into her black spot in the sky,
away into space.
She once called down to me as I wandered through
The nighttime desert, before the coyotes
sang me to sleep.
I looked up at her face, tears filled my eyes, and
I knew the words to mother coyote’s song.
When we kissed he told me grey days were his favorite.
You don’t look at the blue sky, he said,
distracted away from the details of the world.
Instead the edges of the world come into
I asked what about silver nighttime
when only the edges of the world exist, and the sounds of
coyotes in the desert.
He left, and I let him, he never knew the words
to those nighttime lullabies, while she yawned
across her field of starry
desert flower blossoms.
People call her a mocking smile in the sky,
god’s thumbnail, the Cheshire cat.
And maybe they’re right.
I peer around the corner of the bar, smiling, sipping
cheap whiskey on the rocks.
She peeks around the sun’s shadow, winking,
flirting to her heart’s content with the tops of the
Another whiskey, my head buzzes with dust
floating slowly across green tinted
bar light crescents, orange tinted
dim light crooked smiles, dim light crooked kisses,
belly full of liquor,
mouth full of laughing
heart full of mischief in the silver nighttime
I’ve started watching her from my window, as she
slinks out of view, my eyes
too dry from a day under sunshine’s gaze, my reflection
sitting on top of her face, turning away the way I turn away
when his face sits on top of my mind.
Nighttime is quiet these days,
like she wants to whisper goodbye, but can’t;
like she wants to just walk away, but is frozen.
I know the feeling.
So I sit in my bed, letting her tears drip from my face,
letting my cheeks grow red
while hers stay nighttime silver
gazing not at me anymore,
but at her own imminent break, her reprieve
from smiling, yawning, winking
in the night.