nocturne i tether myself to the bedpost with a shoelace so i don't ceiling float again. that's what night does to me-- tries to pry me away from rock & dirt. the moon's gravity is getting stronger everyday. soon it will out weigh the sun's. i want to sleep until my body is a pool or fabric. cut me into a robe. i'm measuring everything by the acre from now on. here comes an acre of night--swooping down from its obelisk on the mountain. i have grown tired of metaphors only living in poems. give me something semi-permanent for once. i am a golden orchid. i am a muddied clarinet. i am a dead bird rising towards the sky graveyard where all flying things rest between this world & the possible other. heaven is covered in weeds. really, the only thing i want is to feet tangible. no not true. i want to dissolve into the sweetness of bows & birthday table clothes. i text the bears in the woods to meet me later by the train station. i leave a message on the answering machine of a honeysuckle bush asking if he intends to bloom again before the true frost. a cloud of gnats slip into my house & write me messages with their bodies. today they just spell "late." do they mean it is late at night? or do they mean i am late for something? i guess that could be the same thing. late to my own quiet dark. really, above all else i am missing you. i am missing what it meant to have my night made translucent by another. i feel myself rising-- lifting like a shopping bag of grapes-- but the tether holds. call me your brief balloon. someday, will you eat my heart? the bears text back but my phone is on the floor too far away to reach. the honeysuckle is already gone.