Tag: night

They Meet There, Still They Meet

They meet there, still they meet,
Where sand gives way beneath bare feet;
No words are said, no vows are sworn,
Just lips that know what silence mourns—
They meet there, still they meet.

The moon bends low to kiss the wheat,
The stars hang close, the air smells sweet;
He brushes leaves from tangled hair,
She laughs as if no one’s aware—
They meet there, still they meet.

And when the dawn begins to beat
Its golden drum on every street,
They part as strangers, soft and slow,
And only night will ever know—
They meet there, still they meet.

Ryan Stone

2

Night Leaves the Latch Open

The sky forgets its thunder,
clouds fold their arms—
somewhere,
a moth dreams of moonlight.

Your breath slows.
The world blurs
like ink in rain.

Stars peer
through curtain cracks,
gentle voyeurs
to a silence
all dreamers know.

Let clocks keep time
without you.
Let the weight fall
from your shoulders,
like moonbeams.

You’ve done enough.

Close your eyes.
The dark knows the way.
It will carry you now,
wherever you need to go.

Ryan Stone

4

Out Here, the Light Fails Slower

Above us, the wind leans into nothing.
Below, fenceposts mark the long retreat
of boundary lines no one remembers drawing.

Somewhere beyond this paddock,
a child flicks a torch on and off—
signalling to no one,
or to the stars.

High overhead,
a satellite drifts,
blind but listening.

Closer in,
a man stacks firewood
by feel alone,
his breath silver
in the cold.

He doesn’t look up.
Not at the planets
looping like tired horses.
Not at the slow-failing light
that’s taken years to reach us.

He just finishes the job,
wipes his hands on his jeans,
and goes inside—
leaving the porch lamp on,
a small promise against the dark.

Ryan Stone

12

Southern Cross

Some nights,
when the wind shifts
and the silence settles deep,
I step out barefoot
onto the cold veranda.

Above the gum trees—
the Southern Cross,
low and steady,
like it’s waiting for me
to notice.

It doesn’t blaze,
just holds its shape,
a quiet thing
pointing the way
I’ve always known
but needed to remember.

Not a map.
Not a promise.
Just a reminder
that home
isn’t something you reach—
it’s the walking,
the choosing,
the light you carry
when the dark won’t lift.

Ryan Stone

11

Tōrō Nagashi

Your flame flickers briefly—
a parting whisper.
Some trick of the river
mimics your laughter.

We stand apart at sunset,
lost in natsukashii,
come together in darkness,
to watch the dead pass on.

Your light has fallen now
to shadow
beneath the bridge.

Ryan Stone

First published on Napalm and Novocain, January 2016

Published at Poetry Nook, October 2018, Nominated for 2018 Pushcart Prize

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72

Paradigm Shift

I’m not an ice-block or wasted teardrop,
mooching around your Long Island Iced Tea.
I’m not chasing dreams, dreaming of Jeannie,
won’t slow for one more whistle stop.
I’ve never bridged sighs, I don’t island hop,
or tasted the free airs of Heaney.
Nor held a heart that, like some Houdini,
didn’t vanish with barbaric yawp.
I have set no flame within love’s hearth
to burn that shantytown down.
At night I am king, come morning uncrowned.
I walk in as Luke, march out as Darth.
Rivers are rivers, regardless of flow–
O, stone, be not so; O, stone, be not so.

Ryan Stone

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48

Days

Sometimes she’s wildfire, burning through the night;
some days she’s a winter storm, ice and fury unleashed.

Sometimes she’s a shadow, neither fully here or really there;
some days she’s untamable, wild as rolling seas.

Sometimes I hold her close, as the world starts coming undone;
some days we fit together and I feel that I belong.

Ryan Stone

Click here for audio

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62

The Weight

One drunken night, he lay on the coach road
and she lay beside him. He pictured a truck
descending–wobbling around corners,
gaining momentum. They spoke about crushes,

first kisses. He told her of an older woman
who’d stolen a thing he couldn’t replace.
He tried to describe the weight of lost things.
She listened until he stopped,
until I stopped

hiding behind he. I felt small,
watching the cosmos churn
while I lay on the coach road
one summer night,
speaking of big things
and nothing.

Ryan Stone

first published at Algebra of Owls, November 2016

Republished for dVerse poetics – Poems That Could Save Your Life – this friendship saved mine.

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