E S T U A R Y

jawline twitch
and dusk streaming
like a hot needle
the shaft of hope
between the drawn
curtian
before night sweeps
clean the shadows
and fires her stars
with dreams
that fall

burning
without sound

and the hollow
acruement
of the hours
when I leave
this door

when the mirror
is quiet
and says no more

I shall think of
smokey seasons
eve

and remember
where that ache
shall stay