Tag: night
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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…
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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 blurslike ink in rain. Stars peerthrough curtain cracks,gentle voyeursto a silenceall dreamers know. Let clocks keep timewithout you.Let the weight fallfrom your shoulders,like moonbeams. You’ve done enough. Close your eyes.The dark knows the way.It will carry you now,wherever you…
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Out Here, the Light Fails Slower
Above us, the wind leans into nothing.Below, fenceposts mark the long retreatof 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 firewoodby feel alone,his breath silverin the cold. He doesn’t look…
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Southern Cross
Some nights,when the wind shiftsand the silence settles deep,I step out barefootonto the cold veranda. Above the gum trees—the Southern Cross,low and steady,like it’s waiting for meto notice. It doesn’t blaze,just holds its shape,a quiet thingpointing the wayI’ve always knownbut needed to remember. Not a map.Not a promise.Just a reminderthat homeisn’t something you reach—it’s the…
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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…
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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…
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Night Dancing
Dusky pink moonlight Cherry blossom arabesque Dreaming tomorrows Ryan Stone
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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…
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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…
