profound sense of something

some nights, you cannot face,
they remind you of old
pain, the angle of the setting sun,
the smell of uncut grass,
you're 17 again, a heart
that only bleeds

I find myself
reaching for cold comfort
when the night sky
promises more
than any sun god could deliver

the rain loses its hold
on a marshy plain, the clouds
no longer threaten

though the sun is down
and they should be settled
until morning, more birdsong
fills the air than I can name

the earth frantic to turn
every drop into life

without motion, the darkness
lays upon me, the hand
of an old lover
forcing me to be still

I cannot see the moon,
and I am troubled by it

swallowing another sip
of forgetfulness,
looking into a black night,
pen across the page
struggling to tell a story