Evening from the Attic

Shadows are long dreams from the bare light bulb in this attic

just beneath its beams and light gleams on the window

going black to our drunk evening stares.

But here I lie down with my reddening eyes and girl

all pinned by the cramp in the room’s A-frame,

and we're restless and weary with all the worst shame

by years of living so unawares.

Here days we slept through so we could face the stars' heat,

just two teens wasted with the excitement of Nox

after our parts held us warm with twilight sparks

formed after dark upstairs.

And so in this shrine of boards and nails we sat

between this earthly sweat and space dust on my mat.

And so by the window beset we pried apart

our hearts wet with lighted airs.

NEXT

--Poems from the Sprawl