The Lap of Night
Disjointed,
like a dream mid-sentence—
I write
where memory frays at the edge.
Dragons?
No.
I don’t live in castles.
I walk through shadows
that used to be mine.
I dream in real time.
The past dressed as now,
crossing streets I’ve already crossed,
but in a different light.
Or none at all.
Two women ran.
blonde, blurred but
not mine— or perhaps. Not known.
Unwritten.
They tried to outrun
something with no face,
and ended up
dying quietly
in my lap.
The dream was vague.
But their weight felt real.
I wonder—
was that failure,
or farewell?
Not everything ends
with a door closing.
Sometimes,
you just step outside
without waiting for permission.
I still run.
Not chased.
Not coached.
But moving.
Still.
I whispered goodbye
to a dream once dressed in sugar
and another
that wore credentials.
They didn’t shatter.
They dissolved.
And I watched,
as the lap of night
let them go.
Image Generated by ChatGPT - The Lap of Night
About this Poem
The Lap of Night slips between dream and memory, following a quiet descent into what’s been buried or outgrown. It explores how we carry the weight of unlived lives and unmet versions of ourselves until, somewhere in the dark, they’re gently released. Through shifting streets, blurred faces, and whispered goodbyes, the poem captures the fragile clarity that often arrives not with closure, but with quiet permission to move on. It's about grief that doesn't rupture but dissolves, and the movement that follows.
