When your words run dry,
Like the parched Colorado, thirsting for Mexico,
Fissured lips, seldom a drop to lust at;
When all it finds are bones, and you yours
I’ll be here.
When babes bristle at your touch
Estranged — the forest from its soil, the sea its ice;
When there are no leaves to fall in that time we call
The fall, there are none. Leave
A naked tree
When shadows cloud your sight,
A cave, rigid to the fingers of the sun,
And the night erects a blackened moon,
And the wind, it howls, not the wolf;
When mountains shudder.
I’ll be here.
In some corner, my back against the world,
If I curl my teeth and snarl your name
Do not pay me any heed —
It is in greeting.
Step forth, if you may,
I’ll be the silhouette among the stumps,
The shifty shape beyond the smoky fire.
Take my hand,
In friendship or in yearning, I do not care,
Just not in love.
For how can love be,
When you utter nothings, caress cold, watch darkly.
We can swim naked in the algae-rot, if you want,
Sleep under a million ink dots where stars once shined,
Gaze upon the horizon, as day succumbs to night and yields Hades’ cloak.
Take my hand
But stay still —
Let us wait
For the fiery wind to heave
Into tonight’s gale
The night’s veil
Will ravage our bodies
— Plunder and pry —
Tangle limbs, tear hair;
I’ll curl as a fetus to the sullen sky
Until the ashes settle and we,
Blind to color, immune to smoke
Are calcified, alone together —
The final human remnants of
A world we once said was ours but forgot to cradle,
And all around is wind and fire.
How the white ants click
And the crickets scream.
Hannah Lewis is a writer for the Weekender. Contact her at [email protected]