By Bart Wolffe
I invited the night. To drink with me
From the dark bottle whose thoughts
Carefully poured into my glass
Might breathe through the open door
Of some bleeding artery
And find their way to speak
Of creatures lost, the blind laments
Of wild and haunted owls,
Sounds that on my tongue tasted red
As fire, the glowing eye
Of my cigarette as it describes
Across the sounds of smoke
Whose unshaped ghosts turn
And linger, disappear before
They are given voice.
Is that a soul that breaks the branch underfoot?
Do the angels cower beneath the silhouettes
That only moonlight makes
Or are they, too, vanished
Like departed friends
Whose names are washed away beneath the wind?
My companion is this mind that wanders
Through the hours when even madmen sleep.
Source: I invited the night