Goodnight

There is a page written
in the fires of an ice blue star
too distant to read without pain
unless you climb the links
between two twinkled gazes
with fraying threads

too feeble to hold
the heavy thoughts of hollow men
so a convoy of feather musings
flits into the sky
to brush the edges of blue fires
and lay down their lives in bitterness
to confirm a truth already known

the fiery words on the page
are nothing new
just piecemeal professions
in the hollows of letters
of hushed confessions of unborn love
with just enough light
to keep the black at bay

so close your eyes
and play peek-a-boo
with the sunlight hiding in plain sight
until one of you is lost enough
to make going back
a matter best left for futile prayers