Interlude

By: William Ross

The minutes of this night

grow fat and sluggish,

leaving a thin trail of wetness

in the tangled garden –

a tear climbing the face

to fall back into the eye.

A song sucked out of the air

is pulled into the radio

and the dead risen from sleep

discover they are still dead

and, even worse, alone.

Between heartbeats there is

a moment of not beating,

when the eye, in total darkness,

still sees but sees nothing.

A waste of the senses

which long to touch and hold,

taste and give voice.

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William Ross is an emerging writer and designer who wrote the Introduction to Epistles to the Toron-tonians (Oak Knoll Press). His poetry has appeared in Bluepepper. He lives in Toronto on land that was the traditional territory of many nations including the Mississauga of the Credit, the Anishnabeg, Chippewa, Haudenosaune and Wendat peoples.