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.