The Silvering Hour
Mute as shame, I’m lying among cherry blossoms
bled of their color by the age of the hour.
This is my haven, my precipice, the moment I shatter.
I want to cup the moon’s dying cheek and dream of a night
upon which darkness fell inside me and I lay like this,
still dreaming, but also asleep, and not urgent to wake.
I want worlds in which it’s okay to be me and I’m not afraid
of even the people I love, where gender might be real
but it is the body that does not exist, like color
in a world lit only by the dead glow of night’s rolled back eye
as she bites her own zenith, wishing she could sleep.
This poem first appeared in the second volume of the poetry anthology, Aurora, by Allegory Ridge, spring 2021