Wide awake at 4:00am and unable to sleep
for the booming silence and the deep
damage this silence has done
the duplicitousness all
the way around — himself included — he rises
naked from the floor on which his bed
is made and sits down at the kitchen table.
The pewter moonlight casts a pall.
Earlier, he’d nicked himself shaving and he bled.
Dry blood still there, but the dark disguises
it. He writes what he is able,
what’s in his head:
On learning last week that a friend
you loved suddenly expunged it months ago,
in late October or so,
and then reinstated it … why and when?
But he crossed that out and re-began:
Coincidence or no?
He was having difficulty letting that question go.
Odd how it all came
down to this thing
and the mention of a rabbit’s name.
Two coincidences in a row?
The fall grew cold and dark
and bloody leaves fell soundlessly in the park.
The birds took wing.
What were the odds? One in five?
Ten against? The damage pulsed: a thing alive.
Retreat into sadistic silence and do not communicate.
The betrayal was too staggering to contemplate.
The cold, meanwhile, did not abate.
His confusion was very great.