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Jan 6
All things change to fire,
and fire exhausted
falls back into things.
-Heraclitus


Black block grove and glade -
it's all translated to wet geometry

by the patina of the rain slant...
It's like a spell has been laid on this place.

We are those without bedtimes,
the quick pestles of clocks grind

past Friday night into Saturday,
the sky tinted, louched:

greening cloudy wash wringing
opals into the late softened minutes.

Things fall back as they were before:
night dissolves in the cold window hood

until the only dark things left are hands,
unstill under sheets of morning lake.
Second draft
Evan Stephens
Written by
Evan Stephens  44/M/DC
(44/M/DC)   
87
 
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