Kathryn J. Stevens

Sillage

bare branches
brush against the moon …
on this, the longest
night of the year
the dark grows darker

Can that be you? So much time has passed I’d begun to believe you were someone I’d imagined while sitting in a rundown cafe. The kind of place where they drink milky coffee as street lights finger paint a rain- greased street.

A shadow parts the moonlight by my bed. Rivulets of sweat run down my back. My hands are cold as stone. It must be you. For only your breath smells of tears others have shed.

I know better but still can’t resist stroking your smile. You wind up my anguish, like so much loose yarn, and tuck it into a used paper bag.

Again, I choose not to notice that restless-as-clouds sheen in your eyes. Choose to fill your silence with my illusions.

one by one
the stars wink out …
without a word
you slip into
another woman’s dream