Bring your lanterns in,
light them with the sound of your name
said aloud three times.
Unburden the heavy air
with one fine syllable.
Throw your light against the thunderstorm
tapping on the window.
See my shadowed face in the strange reflection,
my jaw-line changing shape in sharp flashes of lightning.
See the raindrops screaming down the pane,
glistening toward their deaths.
See the old apple core, rotting on my desk.
See the ceiling leaking,
a puddle on the creaking floor.
See my fluttered, broken movements,
and how I forget to breathe.
Tomorrow I will shield my eyes,
and chant a limit I need
but can never remember.
Tonight I’ll break a promise I keep to myself.
I’ll watch one more thing transform.
And then, I think, one more.