Last Night
I was going to die
It was a soft thing,
immutable

The rain itself slow
over the forest
and without wings floating

Until I saw the child I love
And all stars and nights
and moons and blood
twisted

into the marrow of dreams
And splintered like lights
bursting across the skies

Until sorrow soon itself
once raped of joy
shook this sweet death
until it woke the lie