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Too many things can hide
in the cover of darkness. The warmth of your body and shallow breaths, sleep, while my feet walk over sidewalks lining alternating bricks and blossoms. I catch streetlamps in the corners of my eyes and, to the south, the city bleeds red, suffocating starlight. Hollow thrum of distant engines, the people are moving still.
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How about this:
I will go there, with little bird eyes expectant and anxious, to sit and wait while you figure things out for the first time for the ninth time for the millionth time. Even though you and I both know it will be the same thing this time like it has been every time: me, with my shaking hands and nervous disposition; you, with shrugging shoulders and your mouth held shut. The sound that carried
across Saskatchewan prairies: your heart beating against mine. Thunder. |
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November 2019
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