Shadowweaving

It is something I suspect

at night when the sun- with his bright reason

that burns my thoughts away

abandons his post at last.

At night he is gone tucked beyond the horizon

and only his distant cousins stand guard

over all the sensible statements

but they are sleepy sentinels and much slips by

and so do I

with my thoughts and suspicions.

They are suspicions though I am almost sure

because I cannot see any way to test it

and I cannot stretch the hypothesis out

beneath the blazing light of day.

It would surely shrivel and dry into dust

but in the night the shadows swallow it

and I can only guess with fumbling fingers

it's breadth and form.

It comes down to this:

before it drives me mad

I suspect that you are a thing

of mainly bone all stacked up on each other

and these bones are built

of honeycomb cells one against the other

edge supporting edge with it's six walled wax

and wrapped in the wax lies a small secret

all sticky and silent in its cocoon

it is their soft breathing that shifts you about

cell by cell bone by bone and suddenly

you have moved across the room

and are alone again

This is the tentative truth that I believe

about you

you with your honey gold skin that clings

to the slender bones that stiffen at my approach

are triggered by the secrets

with their breath double timed and poof

you are gone

and I am alone again.

So I suspect you with your frame riddled

with small golden glowing secrets

are beyond my touch with bones of cold calcium

and nothing more.

The sun is rising now

and another shadow stretches

next to mine.

"Where have you been?

I've been searching all night."

How the dawn loves your honeyskin

and so do I.