He thinks when the dead die, children go in/and lift the lids of the music boxes/in their rooms.  They discover how jewels are places lonelier than darkness…

~~ Beckian F. Goldberg

 

We were wrong, thinking blackness ~~
night brings
just an ambivalence of standard ~~
hues of greys.

Last night you walked out, sullen?
brooding over some instance or remark,
its significance exaggerated in your turning mind
as you martyred your heart to your brain.
I followed you quickly, calling you name
(I had to, there were pieces of us entangled
and growing, in my mind, in the dark room,
before you forced them apart
tearing thicknesses, like gristle, tangible)

You didn’t stop, or speak,
or even turn.  I followed you, cold, shoeless,
and not quite drunk, down the steps
and onto the sidewalk,
felt your leaving,
and knew the pointlessness of chasing you.

You, black in the light,
blended with the sky
until the greyness appeared, washed over us,
retreated ~~
hid your jeweled eyes in the night.

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