After Words...

Reddit artworks by 
u/AshamedTap4567, u/Sketch_Study, u/3eyedsloth, u/juliaockert, and u/Reltish 2022

We caught up over cold drinks.

A soda and a beer.

He blew on his bottle like a flute;

I chewed my ice—from white to clear.

We talked about our weekends

And then back through our weeks;

We laughed-and-questioned our fresh

stories out. And then we didn't speak.

I looked to the table (more curious

on my face than in my heart).

He looked to a waitress's tight black shirt.

When she looked back, he turned with a start:

“SOooo—,” he said. “Um, so!” I said,

“There's a new movie out. It looks good.”

“Is it playing around here?” He had life-rings for eyes.

“I'll treat you.” We both understood.

For five peaceful years we'd been roommates,

trading stove-time and fridge-space and coughs.

But falling onto that quiet, after years, is strange—

like brushing someone's hand after the lights go off.

The Next Star (Persistence)...

Light.

           What the tree doesn't catch,

                                  Floods over the fence,

                                        Cuts through the window dust,

                                                         Grates on the lampshade,

                                                             Edges past the bookshelf

                                                     And sets into my 

                                         jelly-eye:

               For a minute,

    A day-end darkened room

turns gold and glimmering; 

 a gas-fire

           flung through a clear expanse—

                                  behind the sum of every 

                                           glare-fanning horizon tip

                                    I've ever sprinted toward—

                                           comes to dance

                    in the mirrored curves 

          of my cornea,

down a pupil's hole. 

For a moment.

Then our sun turns far

beyond the high-edge I see

                of earth, continuing

                 true and boundless

         (cutting blockades

      and nightfalls)

as insists

its soul.

*

When our sun dies,

Will other stars 

roll in, bright?

No—

so the sun 

persists. 

And

our day-hours 

stay light

(though, to the sun,

always a dim blue

face in an endless black):

Your deeds 

and mine

may seem lost 

where we launch them off—

but they crawl 

          warm and 

                        cut 

                  bright

                through 

                        every 

                                 open 

                               crack.