For Whom the Night Divines the Day (I Know You’re Dreaming, too


Yeah I know. You’re all alone out there, too. Watching grass decay; watching wrinkles spread. Staring up late at night into the mystery above, wondering if I’m aching, too. For old tastes and touches. Wondering if I twist inside, too. Like spinning dice forever bent on indetermination. Like spinning tops. Like dancing toys to the melody of laughter. Like the last call of whip-o-wills at dawn. Fading out into your dreams. Like the memory of me as such: The illusion of a mind at rest, the whisper of a passing thought. Like the pull of distant hearts. Like magnets torn asunder, cast apart. I feel a tug. But I retreat against its passion for I am weak and I am humbled. I am afraid. I am afraid of moving too quickly. I am afraid of unwittingly casting gold into a sea of stones; of losing the illusion of my repentance. Of diluting the purpose of our parting—whether that purpose be inherent or illusory. And yet there you are, out there somewhere foreign to me. Somewhere novel to your own experience. Somewhere too far for dreams of touching fingers; too far for chardonnay reunions, shattered plates and ravaged silhouettes. Yeah I know. You’re all alone out there too. Amongst so many faces feigning interest. Amongst so many boys with midnight hair and rosary eyes; calloused hearts and soft fingers. Staring up at the firmament; wondering if the night divines the day. I know you’re somewhere closer to happiness. But I miss your casual judgment over coffee. I know you’re some place closer to home. But I miss crossword puzzles and dried up pens. I miss under the table kicks. Your knowing stares when my hubris got the better of my stories. I miss the way my nonsense made you laugh. I miss the nonsense. I miss the laughter. And, yeah, I know. You’re out there, too. Wondering if I care to wonder what happenstance falls upon you. And I do. Just so you know.

I always did.