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).