A lamentation for the coming of the light…

The day comes on,

relentless in its rising.

The bedroom reeks of sex and melancholy.

Here where we meet, we disappear –

dispersed into the rented world of metal

on concrete, rubber on asphalt, voice upon

voice – the dissonance we are born into.

 

Serenade

 

And when the light is pushed back,

held in check by glimmering rivets

relentless in their own rising,

we will ease the pang of absence,

praise the coming of the night.