White Night

Photo by Xavier crook on Unsplash

We laid together on a cold bench that only stayed
half up, missing a leg. The difference has faded
between the sunk boards and the loose nails.

A birch tree stooped over us, hanging the winter
sky from its’ frozen branches. And the night, white with no lights
floated gray, among the blind blue
birds that couldn’t find the south.

I gripped your hand, colder than mine, harder, wishing the clouds to fall
over the clocks of the station, to stop the train
before the eye of the coming dawn found us, taking you
away, making your place an empty space.

So I bit my chapped pink lips
till I fell asleep in your army coat, knowing
I will wake looking for you, and find only
your letters that I kept in my girlish bootstrap.