Four-thirty:
The sky is dark as ash
The stars, diminished
By the dim suburban glow
To pale dots
New England sunsets come early
This time of year
The weary sun
Hard-pressed even to mount
The subtle curve of Earth
A glimmer between barren trees
Must (for now) suffice
Below, we bathe in blankets
Down like warm mud
Baking in the dry heat
Of oil burners and seasoned firewood
We might be content
If we never had to leave
If suns and souls could both swim in the darkness
Of a hot bath and the lights turned off
If suns we are,
Can we negotiate
An extended hibernation?
Agree amongst ourselves
That most things can wait for March
Or at least until the solstice
Come back down with me, then
Wallow in the thickness
Below the horizon
Darkness doesn’t matter
When eyes are closed
These lines moved me…Darkness doesn’t matter
When eyes are closed
❤️❤️❤️
This is beautifully meditative—lush and atmospheric, with a quiet yearning that settles in like the warmth of a fading fire. The balance of resignation and comfort is exquisite.
Thank you so much! I’m glad you enjoyed it!
–jr
Just came from substack. I’m not too much into poetry. But I really did like your writing. I don’t know why, but while reading I imagined myself in Hogwarts, reading this. Call me crazy. 😂✨
I wasn’t all that much into poetry myself until I started writing it…so I appreciate your compliment all the more! Thank you very much!
–jr