Midnight Leaves
~
She dances by the window at midnight
A silk scarf flecked with copper, burnt with ashes, drifts against a midnight sky, lit by a full moon it gleams and glints and hides away its glories at the passing overhead shadows of the silhouttes of trees
She dances by the window at one a.m.
Dark skeletal veins of bright silver threads against pewter flecked midnight gum leaves, they rustle in the slightest shifting of air, crackling as crisp paper that would crumble and shatter if the air stirred to a mere breeze
She dances by the window at two a.m.
Against the darkened shadow puppet theatre, glints a gold and greeney street light, a single spot light projected onto asphalt that softens in tones of beaten lead and a solitary bejwelled dandelion casts off its dusky gems to the rustling morning breeze that filters through the veils of shadows
She dances by the window at three a.m.
Newspaper moths tumble over the highway, screeching at the rarest passing whirl of wind and headlights, tumbling over they gather a trail of dusty specks that skitter with nervous energy imitating the cars when they're awake not sleeping within cement walls over a redtiled expanse of land
She dances by the window at four a.m.
At the crooked end of an alley stand two entwined lovers in the tint of a red light, a kiss blessed in iron, a strong full-bodied red spilt across the gloom, the crumbling decay of stones worn down and plaster cracked and peeled into a strange mosaic of grime, this kiss tinged in iron
He turns and rising goes to sleep at five a.m.
Just when the light begins to soften, do the early morning risers stir at the sounds of their ringing clocks, to fill up on hearty porridge served up before the dawn breaks before they head out to battle the pavements in the first pricks of day
He stirs and rising makes a coffee at six a.m.
An empty window frame graced with clambering vines touched gold and pinky hues as dawn looks into the room that is vacant, just a fine layering of ashey dust and lacey cobwebbed corners