BRIEF PEACE

The last party--alone
under a bare light bulb.

As I tap my fingers on
the kitchen table,
I am reminded
of the restless dance of an ant
and of how the bird hit
the window pane
after seeing the reflection
of another bird.

The night moves with a train
of ants across the floor--
      slow as a maple drip
      yet actively sweet in every moment.

The ice rattles--
a skeleton in a glass--
the ghost in the shadow corner
watches me and grins.

I’ll go into the deep
of the hill cave
shortly.  The soft darkness descending
over my eyelids
will return to me those beloved lights
of the midnight street
when sidewalk
talked to our feet in echoes.

Those nights when even
the ants slept, clustered
around the bosom
of the queen ant.

But I’ll stay at this table
for one
more tick--
I’m as empty and as full
as this glassful of air.
I no longer wish
to enliven myself
by imagining sunlight.

This stasis brings freedom
--one type of freedom--
accidental freedom.  A freedom
that lifts me in a instant--

      pauses for a breath, then continues
through like a sail bird.

I have reached the end
of another ending

but at the end, I lag
awhile longer
so that I may enjoy
the lingering of the feeling
and then
the afterglow of its absence

before I must stand.

© 2008 Michael R. Patton      go back