113 Poem by RIC BASTASA

MIDNIGHT

She is the only one that moves now
Her soundless feet keen on the floor
Her silence seeps
In empty corners where all the sorrows sleep


She dances in the grace of afternoon petals falling off
Her cold breath hovers
In the roofs that vigil the death of the noisy crowd


A loner
A curious clone of a black ghost
She visits abandoned rooms
And cracks stories concealed by the muted angers


She drops a secret like a feather
Floating and I though awake
Throughout her wakings and walk-ins
Could not recall having caught one
In such slowness
What she really says amidst the silence
Or meant in all these dark passages


The mirror on the wall stares
And glares at me with anger
One must have just died
The killer fled
Hidden by her black capes
Another secret I supposed
And though I thought
I knew


She had already flown away
Like a black bird into the night


I want to make some rains for her
Or offer her a lace of my tears
But by then another morning has come


Gently touching me
With flowers
And dove on my palms.