42 Readings | 0 Ratings

The Witness

In the hour before they return

I finally hear the silence,


               and the moon

               as my witness –


one likes to know

the world


waits outside               their door


but in here

it’s just dust


rattling a megaphone,


my secret eye

painting the future’s history


in burgundy.  And I think of the forces

of oppression, and I pop my window                         open


on my ship in the night, because indeed

it is a fear


of one’s own private self


which creates the need

for impunity.  Were it not


for this overwhelming belief                in the public, the reality

of witness, like the moon


onto me, now –           I would not


                                                            love you…




Posted 12/04/18
Comments (0)
Would you like to leave a comment on this profile? Join Ink Node for a free account, or sign in if you are already a member.