How everything comes to nothing these days.
You know that Harvey plays his sax too loud
like he’s alluding to alternate things, or ways
that broken fingers cannot grasp. And, the shroud
of mystery comfortably cloaking the gasp of an old
woman who saw too much and much too soon.
In the waning light many of the stories told
beckon to the firelight and a slivered moon.
The wafts of smoke intoxicate and burn eyes
crying and laughing at the bright fireflies.
Children playing at seesaw seem to weigh
the fare; and what have we come to today?
The ornate closet door starts to creak ajar.
You see, we haven’t really strayed that far.
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Submission Name: Whispering Aloud
