Night swallows itself
in its reflection
on this page
original poetry
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I.
Here in the night that looks at itself
From the backwards crib of dawn
Speaks to itself in grey compulsion
And counts wandering shades
That lurk within it:
A gnarled thread
Of memory
Sings.
Residue of an echo of a tune,
Eyelids and laceration on the surface of night.
Blind beasts and their dull slash wounds,
Time is gored in the ritual disjunction
Of dim eyes & their aspirations
Through the scalpel of sleep.
You are the loam-weaver
& shattered expectation of transcendence
Where this night begins and tomorrow ends
Overlap through the extinguished fire
Of my mind.
II.
Here in the night of deliverance
That mirrors impermanence of form
Through its dew-hawk
(Wraith in featherless roost,
Nest of invisible sparks)
An emphatic descendancy.
I am lost in the revelation
Of the countenance of night.
It shows me itself
In my face of black oceans.
In its cloak of angry eyes
I see, melted, my vacuous avatar
Becoming the iris of a ringed lake.
Lake unseen, of air
Feeling itself through ephemeral correspondence
Filled with creatures engaged in battle
With the febrility of day.
Night where elaboration triumphs
& the cosmic swan departs its cage.
Night that swallows reason
In the porcelain beak of this page.
Written & spoken
By 
2/25/18
Images arePublic domain.
