There is a certain time of night after which no work will be accomplished.
The sun goes down, the moon comes up, and that old Other World that people have crooned about for ages seeps in through the walls like so much shadow.
Outside, there’s no protection from it at all.
There are things we have never seen singing in the dark,
and white light that cools as if it likes to be the only star that doesn’t burn us.
Of course, it’s not a star. It’s just a shining stone suspended in a sky that has turned blue-black like an ocean.
And there we are,
slipped into that old Other World with no idea of how we got here.
But those dishes in the sink – do they need to be washed?
It seems here, they might just belong on the counters,
in their odd stacks, three different sized plates
with a bowl and a cup
and a spoon stuck out the top
like a flag.
Might not be dirty dishes at all.
Might be a castle for something small.
I walk lightly around those castles,
and try to decide whether
tonight I am seeking castles sized for me
this is a dark night I should hide from,
deep in bed.
It’s been a long day, and my old college habits have kicked in: I wrote a little nonsense, then enjambed it until it started to look a little like work.
I’m sorry there’s no installment of Farther today. It will be back next week, once I get my bits and pieces back together.