moonlight frosting runneled condensation
bottles of ink lining the sill
chilled pre-dawn air
so cold in my shift, these thin sheets no protection
so cold the thin film of ice I scratch into
the brass nib heavier than my hand can hold easily
the words spidery, stilted, a spell half spun
and so cold the emptiness
your missing voice
your absence keenly felt
a wound the full unsilence
white noise, moon noise
static across the space between us
the vacuum and dust of so many failed flights
scratched record radiation of so many rocket launches
to nowhere, leaping up into the stratosphere
only to fall back to earth on fire
lucifer’s laughter
to splash down impotent
having only achieved a part of a dream
(did we fail to dream enough?)
one small step is too far
and you wonder what is wrong
you wonder why the distance grows
it isn’t, it doesn’t
it’s only that we feel it more
sometimes
when the moon pales
and the chill air enforces the small coldness
the loneliness of these sheets
the deep fears
of insignificance
of efforts never made
of time spinning thinner
of impermanence
the words scratched into ice
that will melt when the day dawns
leaving only a faint
memory of the feelings
until the moon shines on them again
unending cycles
lonely lunacy
