-
September 15, 2016The night knows
my doubts
aren't really doubts.
When darkness spills her ink
into the fading sky
she knows how my soul
dives in
and glides
in wide circles
like the hawk in daylight
writing loopy cursive love notes
in the pale August sky,
pledging her wild heart
to the air,
that dear invisible
perpetual embrace.
The darkness knows
what I am only just discovering:
that I could never
say goodbye.
I can only fly
deeper and deeper
into her liquid blackness
and, like the hawk,
drop my ink-bathed feathers,
my love notes,
dripping midnight,
into the fields below -
slow-landing evidence
of the promise
I sign with my soul.
- by a Wrentham Novice
