Late at night,
when the light changes from blue to slate,
I hear from behind the wall
a brief, unshakable sound
like a small animal
brushing against wood.
I know the seasons behind that wall,
the reddish-brown tint of earth
packed like boxes of ex-lovers
moving from house to house,
the altitude where birds drift off
to secret wind tunnels and are lost.
If I pause to listen,
the sound stops in fits
and starts when I move—
naked, uncompromising,
this parry and counterpunch,
a syncopated tempo
of will and intent.
Shadows take to the room:
the estranged/deranged
call and response,
off-key, off-kilter,
an intersection of streets
where Wood meets Division,
Hope meets Power,
the mute improvisations
of a love-sick blood.
[Teresa Leo, 'Mad Silhouette', from The Halo Rule]
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