It’s a maddening force this slip of the wind
between the shadows of root and sky.
We like to dance to the gravestones and exchange
whispered night dreams
but really, where do we go at night?
It’s a quieting revelry of bones and need-blood
the ancients who speak of half lies.
A neighboring field, run sweating love-lunge
of grasping breathless hushed cries.
Let us be the night queen of everything unseen
in this makeshift lullaby.
For we want and we crave it-
this world, can we make it?
although we will die.