Autolycus By Midnight

felt tip pen on paper


Autolycus by Midnight

Forgetting sleep , as finding faith in places
Grander than an adult’s eye can go,
And slow! No sleeper’s ear could hear her so
Creeping down the dark familiar spaces,
Unshod ; uncertain ;knowing and wanting still
Setting out on tipping toes the clinging cold
The tabled bier, the black, forbidding fold
Dancing like a nightcoat’s flapping frill;
To will; to snap unseen the silver thread
That holds her hanging hand; and now
With ruby-tasting sweets to sneak to bed,
Darker than the dusklight, first fruits of sin
Fat, fallen grapes too heavy for the bough,
Awaiting teeth that break their supple skin.

-Thomas Clark