In Kingsport, high on the ridge, night is seeping out of the Cumberlands And two-steps the hills, shadows in ecstasy across the sky- Not dark, not dark, but almost, deep and a sweet repose. Under the washed-red mimosa spikes, under the blue backwash Of evening, under the gun Of mother-prayer and expectation, gently the eyelids close. My sister and mother and father, each In a separate room, stay locked in a private music and drift away, night And day, drift away. I hear the gates of my life snick shut, Air kisses, kisses from someplace that I’ve never been, but will be from. Snick snick through the Red Sea, snick snick toward the promised land Someone is turning the lights out. The darkness is mine, Time, slow liquid, like a black highway in front of me Somewhere, no headlights, somewhere. Hello goodbye hello. Works and days. We come, we hang out, we disappear. There are stars above us that can’t be counted, and can’t be counted on. Gently the eyelids close. Not dark, not dark. But almost. Drift away. And drift away. A deep and a sweet repose. |
© 2000 Charles Wright