Nameless Comes Nightly

Wednesday, November 30, 2011

Thirty-five of you,

I’ve seen come nightly

I’d lean over to feel you

and fail,

The hands, not mine,

Move constantly away

choosing to chase uncertainty.

You wear the frequent, nameless gloom

Long before I step outside to hail you

Are you Loneliness?

You shy away from an answer, looking stern, unscathed.

I go on filling you with words,

The wind goes on taking them all away

And with liberty--

But are you Loneliness?

Orange, yellow, gray, pitch-black almost

At the back of my head I’m guessing.

I look up from my fiction, there I see you again

The one from last night but never acting the same

Steal another night or so from my children

I tucked them tight and tender

So move the way you do—catlike and deep in poetry

So no one hears you- -Loneliness?

Some nights I meet you so quietly

Though you bring the same glow

Here, and where my eyes can’t see.

No you don’t scare, you don’t.

You bring nameless gloom, I always say

Come, let me look at that face you’re wearing tonight

For if Loneliness, it’s you again,

I ask that you don’t come tomorrow night

And hide in the name Moonlight.

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