Midnight Swims

Can the wind rustle
without the leaves?
Can the air stir
without the door creek?
For there are seashells
in my washed-up ears
assuring me that I won’t sleep
before death has visited me.
 
I lay here like a battered trunk
and wonder, as I gaze 
into the midnight garden
watching Tom,
whom they will no longer
let wander for long,
'What sort of stifled hunt
took place in heaven
for the stars to pulverize
And twinkle down
upon the ripples
like the white ash of
a ghostly shipwreck never found
or some gun powdered sugar?
I guess I’ll taste it 
when I drown.
 
“Noches de las calladas
luchas”
as Neruda himself knew
before me
like every other paper soul
set fire to
before him
when he caught the bug
and the night got hungry.
 
As a fallen tree,
I see it all
and hear it all
so I am forced to stare
straight into the face of darkness
and pose the question,
 
'How scared must you be
to be so scary to me?'
Creative Commons License
Midnight Swims by Thomas Baruzzi is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

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