the black ice glows
under the streetlights of amber,
the snow slowly falls,
white drowning in a black world.
footprints crossing
under a sky of no stars or moon,
the cold falls heavily,
knife blades in the silvery quiet.
mellow blues and violent shades of orange
drown out memories of night,
filter in through the darkroom
full of whispers in my ear,
a soft voice not quite to be heard
but only to dream of hearing.
just beyond certainty,
she's here.
colors play like subtle strings
tugging at the edge of canvas
that lays before, now,
this curse of being ready to go
and never prepared to stop.
the watch-hands sweep seconds
from hollow tomorrow into today
and today into yesterday,
and yesterday into thought,
and thought into dreams she denies.
caught in a dance
but skipping the important steps,
a faux pas a thousand times over
until the crowd catches on
and the phantom must flee this realm.
a slip of the tongue, the wrong name
are always far too close for comfort
just like the moon tonight.
and so at last she arrives,
the silence muffled by shards of glass,
a once-love, brushed aside,
woven into a cloak dark in the shadows
against the winter chill.
and she walks down the street to a house
that's not hers.
freezing on the curb painted yellow
i'll sit here for fear of remembering
frost on the windows in the early hours,
and the name won't come to my lips.
Abscheid, meine Rottkäppchen.
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