here, at the squeeze of night

water eases Summer,
thickening its layered arrival
under a fat waxing crescent Moon
with a windless cling
as if the air knows
as the stars do too
that even the cat in heat
a few yards over
crying into night's exit
can hear how I watch
and taste what I want to feel
and what I want to smell
with my nose up
Dawn traipses as she slowly, quietly climbs above the birds like vines climbing over the dark,
I am on the tines of a slow forked bite
to an open mouth
of her daylight and my dreams just
resign themselves to being the fuel of the blind lantern
I carry into the Sun as if I could possibly understand
what I've burned when my needs distill a potency of denial
upon any truth
I choose not to speak
with my rusted locks
and empty pocks
in the hollows of my soul
as I crawl into morning
praying for keys...