time pulls and repaints things, like forgotten furniture and garage sale finds. it melts us all, a slow drizzle making a puddle of a pile of snow
oh. but lord. it’s good night, if you must know. good night, that stays afloat in me, like a heart could spin the web of a spider and hold close a thing for comfort…restive and unconquerable…good night. your face. your voice. a dialogue of things. a litany of events. your life. our life. our little life of things and facts and jokes and ground control. or a finger tap on the screen, us pretending states could be crossed with a phone. maybe my room behind me as i held off sleep just a little longer. my glasses reflecting you back. and your voice. so necessary. always your voice, and the galaxies of your eyes, to say to me good night my love good night.
and home, with your head resting calmly in the offered curve of my shoulder. your quiet, almost prayerful murmurs of love and life and forever and thanks laying across me like pearls. and the shadows and sounds of ogden creeping and stirring. the pulse of chopin keeping time with your waning breath. my sigh or shift waking you briefly. then you turning, finding more of me in the dark, your sleepy voice of dreams and good night my love good night.