Nightcap
For the sick and suffering
But where do the bluefish sleep
When cased in caverns of glass
Upswept from the milky silt and loam
Beneath the dead and brittle sassafras
What happens to the lizard skins
Bleached to flakes by southern sun
Do they take to stone and sulphur
Do they rest or do they run?
What do they ask of you
The chasmal eyes of black boys yawning
The shallow nights, and spells to summon
The harvest moon, ripe for the falling
Where goes the shadow of the man
who came to love the one who withers
A body breaking loose of flesh
The yellow bones to bend and shiver
How the ash sweeps clean the ground
and sharps are scoured by soft flurry
How, through winters, without a sound
Did we beg respite not to hurry.
