Prelude to a Quieter Epilogue

The stars are fading now, against skies sinking within my reach,

holding storms too distant to matter without your breaths.


These days, I cannot taste the night anymore. And mornings love

to invade me with the raging pestilence of their light.



Somehow my shadow finds comfort in other shadows, drenched

in murmurs, as though trapped in a house of prayers,

in the music of supplications.


But I still remember afternoons falling on grounds that cradle us

with laughter, bursting into colors that offer skies

a kaleidoscope of lucidities.




As always, I long for the appearance of evening lights along the bay;

the noise around them disrupts the sky growing darker,


setting the scene for whatever might punctuate an immensity

that loves the silence of sleep undisturbed.


MICHAEL CAYLO-BARADI lives in California.  His work has appeared or is forthcoming in Blue Fifth Review, The Common, Eastlit, Eclectica, elimae, Eunoia Review, Ink Sweat & Tears, MiPOesias, Prick of the Spindle, and elsewhere. He has written book reviews for New Pages, and  is an alumnus of The Writers' Institute at The Graduate Center (CUNY).