Morning
 

Fog hides the city lights, so the tower burns alone. Voices dance around rails,

fly through windows, forbidden cats. Dream of the boy who stares through dark,

who crosses the room to lie on my bed of feathers and down. Here we will live

forever, skip the day and blame our absence on life-altering books and hauntings.

This morning his father appeared. He wore a Dali tie, The Persistence of Memory.

We rode the elevator as rebel children ride it nowhere. He held out a velvet box,

and in the slit where ring is placed, charm for gold charm bracelet I lost. 




Earlier version published in Paper Swans (Autumn 2014)
 

Ariel Dawn

Ariel Dawn  lives in Victoria, British Columbia. She spends her time writing, reading, and studying Tarot. Recent work appears in canthius, (parenthetical), Foxhole, Vine Leaves, Room, and is forthcoming in A Furious Hope anthology.

Her poetry appears in NationalPoetryMonth.ca.