some nights the wind whistles
through the old lighthouse and
in the town below the mothers
tuck in their children and close
their shutters and watch their
fires till dawn.
some nights you tell me stories
of the village graveyard with the
night watchman and the magic
stick whose tip-taps are the
measure of the night.
some nights the stars are so close
that you forget. i dream of old
souls haunting the highways of
the heartland. this late, love,
the night belongs to students
and the stars.
some nights i hear a piano; two
notes hesitant in the dark. your
name is now a stranger on my
lips. how could it come to this?
how could it come to this?