dapper stag
I hold joy like a glass that might crack,
fingers careful, never tight,
already rehearsing the sound of shatter
even as sunlight gleams through the rim.
But my laughter is a bird in a cage,
its song trembles against the bars—
sweet, but smaller—
and I know the silence after
was written in its throat from the start.
Happiness drifts beside me,
yet I wear the chill of a coat too thick,
sweat gathering while the air is warm.
Even on clear days,
my shadow plots its escape,
marking paths into a darkness
not yet arrived.
I don’t turn from beauty—
I see it sharper than most.
But sharpness cuts,
and the present hums against my skin,
half-warm, half-cold,
like a lantern trembling in wind,
its glow too fragile to hold.
Still, part of me wonders—
if I unlatched the cage,
if I shed the coat,
if I let the lantern burn unguarded—
would the breaking come softer,
or would it never come at all?
ebon dust