(no subject)

[silentjack]

the night descends slowly,
an anti-star slowly fading in,
an anti-moon coming into fullness

a shadow reaches for my leg
and holds on, and remains
I let it stay there, unfastened

I exhale, an aerosol plume of white
splaying out like a boat’s wake,
disappearing into the pines

the shadow breathes in, a reconstituted
vapor I exhausted being drawn
into its body, making it fuller

this happens for,
say,
an hour or a month

noticing I am out of breath
my eyes dart here and there
to find someplace to collapse

I hit the bottom of a hollowed
oak trunk; I feel the pools of blood
forming underneath my skin

my elbow cracks on the ground
the familiar tingle racing toward
my fingertips and back

I regain my vision, briefly,
and see the shadow is standing,
chuckling at me, full of life

still attached to my leg, it walks away
and subsumes another shadow,
my skin being pulled away from bone

I am dragged along yellow-fogged streets
and watch as the shadows put on new
clothes and embrace

I wake days later, a black ribbon
tied around my ankles, a noose
of shadow around my neck