The Cool Breath of Evening

Imperfect mirror of aged glass
distorted and broken base
find the face, find the space
at evening when the light grays to black
and the room ceases to breath

Oh how weary
weary, weary

head tilted toward dawn a night away
always still

And yet
in the distance
the rain of stars and singing quiet protest
Smoke-eyed siren on the stage
of spent cigarettes, crushed cans
and high heels pressed and fade
fade now into an empty breath
breathless
and late, lounging idly
her fingers beneath eyes
eyes of blue
always
she sighs

How weary
weary, weary

stroke the flame with sunken lips

The bearded Indian
a shadow beneath neon signs
proclaiming the son of God

holy effigy
holy sun

Speak
voice of amber gray
hollow mask of drunken misery

I am conquered
in the past
the distance

Trail away, blue pennant at dawn
fade in long trails into the west

Oh how weary
and now silence fills the room.