So many stories of unfinished business— A deadline or curfew always looms at midnight. The young gallants must return their dance partners to the dock before they're discovered missing, before their boats sink or dissolve in sunlight. To break a spell, the girl's flashing fingers must fling the woven garments on the flock as it rushes into the air at dusk. Don't ask why one has an arm that drags like a broken wing though the rest of his limbs are whole. Don't ask why the sole of the shoe wears thin night after night and why no leather can withstand the chafing of desire. Ask instead why no one opened the door to let the orphan in, instead of allowing her to crouch outside in the cold; she struck match after match against a flimsy book until not one stick remained, not one red flame making promises.
Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.