Pictures From Last Night Mitchell Johnson A dew-laden hike, The cedars saturated pink, The pads of our fingers Pressed together, whorls slipping into each other, Snarling roots ignored underfoot. The crackle of leaves: Dry bones scraping pavement, Tumbling in the wind. October’s first snowflake melting On the tip of your nose. Whiskey’s warm amber bite, Loud bar crowds dissipating, Glances stolen In the veiled closing hours. Stars fading in and out. Stoplights blinking red. Broken glass before the door; Mischief of the somnambulant. Aching thighs Climbing the expanding flight of stairs. A lock of an apartment door. Tap-water cascades in the glass Forgotten as unsure footsteps lead to Eternity between sheets. The blink of the smoke alarm watching from above. A sweet release to dreams. Strand of sunrise Breaking through the blinds. Faint twitters Of sparrows, dots on an oak branch, Remembering morning, singing,
10
