a disruption of magnetism – the collision of comets somewhere dark and still.

There are no more
“goodnights” between us
no more good
between five blocks’ disparity,
their illumination
a brief challenge to the
a wrinkle in the blanket
of calm
tucked tightly under the shoulders of your half of the world.

flashlights dance about this temporary grave.
the cars carry them
with familiar adolescent rebellion
to stir our ghosts
from their safest places –

There is acquiescence from both sides of the night,
that the beginning and the end
where one of us, awake,
a flood of recycled conclusions
meeting rest and resisting
indignant to sleep,
and the other
breathing slowly
recharging the lungs
vibrating eyes
the refuge of a quiet unconscious seizure there,
as those fantastic comets often do.

the sky is starless
for this mile
when even the vehicles are scarce
there’s always a street light
every few buildings apart
sells its golden halos
rays ebbing out
cupped hands to catch the incoming morning
from a reckless airbound throw
heads and tails.

You see,
we found a way to
keep going
to end the light barren
and stripped naked
of our burning
and those little things
that used to make up
and why we’ve done that
will keep me awake on this side
of the night
and bury you
in that wrinkled blanket
of desperation
on that one.

if it rains out there
neither of us
can see the other
and brace
for a collision.

if it doesn’t,
neither of us will.