Black

heart like a crow
this suffocation moves underneath my skin,
charred charcoal.

There was a time
when this was all that could be seen,
in a dread silence, the dark.

Siren, guilty hands,
guilty hands in ink,
or pushing out into emptiness during a dream.

Moving on,
nighttime on a train
when stars are blotted out by cloud formation
in great piles of elevated freeze.

The sky reads us,
plunges into eclipse:
the people are dying without light
(come and save each chest-beat, pound
before the blackness stops the very last one).

Someone is there at midnight
outside the door, pushing.