It is 8am,
and the light is shifting
finally.

He would dance in dark corners
a mere shadow's flitting distraction.

Moving in time
to a teardrop
tremor.

Don’t hold back
don’t hold back

And she didn’t,
she tore out handfuls of hair
and wove him a cup.

But he would not drink

He was a mere distraction,
a movement
in the corner of her eye.

Standing still
till rock dissolved,
sand liquefied,
water hissed into history,
the earth laid waste,
and still he stood.

Don’t hold back
don’t hold back

Her cry
echoed across vast
wasted days
and sought new ways to ask
the same questions

Answers,
lost in shifting light.