Interim

Winter
brings a fleeting cold that bites
and makes eyes weep tears.
A trail of salty, warm rivers brings
a subterranean freeze down
sullen, lifeless cheeks.

The dark commands a scope,
a retained permanence.

Architecture and engines
of no fixed abode rest, scattered, shielded under frost.
Streets lie flat, as if they await liberty from intermission.
They wait. Even the silence waits.

Sleeping, sleeping...

This town is in hiatus,
its inhabitants in espousal of darkness,
letting it flood through
their bloodstreams before
the submersion – cocoons them into slumber.

Elsewhere, I oversee amongst the horizon

dominions that have taken refuge from the rest.
Like an envoy of lanterns they illuminate

the strongest of light, contained in their fortresses.

Light, so bright!

Swathes of it flush; radiates desolate neighbours.

But those who consume it

know little the greatness of what they possess.

They too are asleep,

satisfied in their lofty sanctuaries within,

that the light is only spent on themselves.
 

Fearful of becoming their intimate other, it is locked,

and wasted on the evasive.
Come! Force the repercussions of
opposites

embracing
that they compel a defiant balance.
Until then, both worlds stay separated.

All is separated, united

by the universe
that holds its design together.
The design that hosts this paused surface,
a shell of recognition laced with neglect.

Afraid of becoming alternate,
keep assumptions of blinding

and exhortation when
all it desires
is a light’s delicate glow,
or darkness’ cooling shade.