The Christmas Shade

The sister of night breathes softly near the banister
waiting for the hour to descend silently, a shade
in the window filtered moonlight dancing accross my wall
down, down, to the christmas floor. The hard floor.

Beneath the tree, and beneath the presents
beneath the settled dust of bachelors
finding the worn wood of the floorboards
groaning with the weight and grinding of life.

Searching for the silent spot between the boards
holding her breath in the one last place, hoping and still,
dragging the dry air around her, pressing to her breast
the hours before dawn, an almost forgotten dream.

The moon sinks below the western night
Her dancers slowly dissapperaing
into the dark
before morning.