Nightwatch

The night is clear and thin and full
of spectral ghosts that hover like unspoken
words, broken in odd places
and twisting through the distance with
seeming ease
to meet their end in the [[heart]]
of a watcher, waiting for your sentence
to fall from star-shaped holes
in his universe, the phrase on which
fate itself turns, a tiny dancer who smiles
at the thought that we could [[read]] her
in the pin-pricked past,
that a collection of signs could surpass
all this:
a cosmos at every [[moment]], and wakeful,
even in the dark.

Traces

• Remember