Marginalia

they say things are darkest before the dawn,

and having stayed up all night, I can confirm:

when those first rays of daylight pierce through the gloom,

and the sky makes its bruised transition from black to blue,

you can see —

a knife so clean;

ghosts dancing at the edge of morning,

faces blurred by sleep-deprived eyes;

a brick wall, a wail unanswered;

a great terror that swells inside you

as the claws of night loosen their grip.

the ghosts leave the shadows and join the sky.

you want to spit it out, but you can’t.