You, Me, Midnight

(This poem is in honor of the great Seamus Heaney, 1939-2013)


There were caterpillars digging

into the earth, soft

as cookie crumbs spooned

from the top of the milk.

Those dark dots against

the white like fish

floating upwards.


A memory of swimming

where the green algae

hid the shine of the scales.

They seemed suddenly so

dull like the way chocolate

loses its shine and tastes

of sweetened chalk.


The fingers trailing across

the blackboard caused

thoughts of how words

were so easy to wipe away

but left faint ghost

outlines like dreams imprinted

on a bedroom wall after

waking too fast.


In the dream they keep

digging, digging until

they reach the bottom

of the world. It looks

like the night sky painted

on a canvas right before

anything is added

but the dark.


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