Across Inconstant Breath

Would that this skin
this frail armor
atop the husk of
slow departure - 

Would that it held
against the teeth 
of night's maw
against the sharp
ache of claws 
drawn down across
inconstant breath, 
shivered tissue 
awash in the sweat
of fear

Doubting the wisdoms
of the light world
augering ever deeper
into the droning
tones of our 
voices repeating 
that our ends will
not be the ends of us

Our dreams will not
explode like champagne
flutes against dark marble
as we disappear into 
places beyond this globe

Shadows grasp and call
telling us the lies within
our hopes will soon enough
shine, soon enouogh gleam
as the sword we have always
felt at the nape of our 
necks falls, and we are 
made true at last, 
finally honest in our 
surrender and dissolution

By Patrick M. Tracy