[I stiffen: again]
Adam Palay
I stiffen: again a shift,
a shuffle somewhere
in the darkness,
impenetrable
as the guillotine.
The scaffold collapses
into a bulging jaw
sputtering against
the shut. The heart
is a muscle. Alone,
against the drawbridge,
my hand, wet with fog,
slicks over the steel,
and the big bolts
resisting rust. Lift,
and the rain
folds like hands retiring
into applause, and
your silhouette disappears
like a question
into a question mark.
As if anyone could be
lost, and permanently.
A candle spills through
its wax, as the buildings,
slowly, fall into a cloud
which appeared as if
to catch them, but, in
truth, held nothing.