The Glass Meniscus

The Glass Meniscus


We pressed that night our mouths into
The glass meniscus of one-another's worlds,
Stood among the careful flowers of
Words laid out for witching hour.

We cast our nets between the stillness,
And stopped, held still the Ancient seer:
The Time-child passing by.

She watched our feet, entwined like roots,
coiled and in the quiet grew and stretched and
moved with shadows hot and cold as
thoughts and futures ebbed and told.

The jack-o-candles murmured light across your
Fingers, hiding-seeking through my hair
While beat-beat there she stood suspended,
In whispered webs of fractal eyes and mouths.

A candle dies, the smell of fire, we part, she moves
and twirls a step behind the muslin shroud.
The waxing casts our shuffled smiles and shakes
her baton from the web to tick and beat the night to sleep.