THE DIMMER GLOW
By John Grey
The hills bleed rust,
trimmed by the last of red.
Trees flutter their flags of dusk,
a celebration of fading.
What is that out there?
A lake? Or merely mist,
spread above the surface,
like a body too long in the cold?
The mind goes one way,
the eyes, another.
Insects never sleep.
Birds encase themselves in wings.
And bats burst from the throat of the cave,
starved and singing.
You rock gently,
wood groaning beneath your weight.
The cottage doesn’t know your name.
Neither does the night.
But your dreams do. They always do.
Childhood waits there, barefoot and uninvited.
Yes, the stars are lovely. But lovely like jewels
tight on the neck of a woman
who’s smiling too long,
as if she doesn’t know what’s out there/
Better the girls who grinned –
the ones with elbows too sharp,
names like smudges on glass.
And that light – far off, flickering –
is it a boat? a firefly? a warning?
The eyes have stopped asking.
The mind is busy,
worshipping the dimmer glow.
John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in Shift, Trampoline and Flights. Latest books, “Bittersweet”, “Subject Matters” and “Between Two Fires” are available through Amazon. Work upcoming in Levitate, White Wall Review and Willow Review.
