Fly-by-night (original poem)
I remember what we said under our fingers…
when hushed and heavy-eyed.
In the hours between now and tomorrow’s problems.
Spat out in grim jest like a laughing choke,
Birthed in the mercy of our madness:
Those were promises scribbled on the wind.
Truths I once half-knew teased on the turn of a phrase,
Said so heavily, and lightly.
Just now I caught them dangling on the edge of a memory,
And for a while held them close again
… but no longer tightly.
~ Nathan Glass