When it finally begins, the darkness arrives in pixelation
like the confetti of falling wishes and hopes
the light in the chamber dappled by bigger and bigger shadows until they connect
bleed together into an understanding of night. We agree
this sliding together of darkness is another night.
This is the spell that has us call the red fruit a tomato
because to speak of nightshades is to conjure
the deadly apothecary of belladonna
the whisper of poison in the wine. So we agree
this is a tomato and the closing gloom is just another end of day.
But isn’t there just a minute when you catch yourself
mouth still wet with the tang of your caprese or gazpacho
your skin still warm from the sun? Do you pause at the chill of first shadows
and the curious bite of acid at the back of your throat? Do you wonder
if the words have been sung like a lullaby so you will close your eyes and sleep?
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