ABOUT THE AUTHOR

William Doreski lives in Peterborough, New Hampshire. He has taught at several colleges and universities. His most recent book of poetry is Dogs Don't Care (2022). He has published three critical studies, including Robert Lowell’s Shifting Colors. His essays, poetry, fiction, and reviews have appeared in various journals.

Nocturne in D

At three AM the dark thickens

and becomes almost edible.

Hard to breathe, though. You lie

in self-absorbed sleep while

the ceiling and roof disappear

and the naked stars peer down.

I’ve dreaded this moment

of exposure. The sky expands

and the earth under me vanishes.

The dark is so thick despite

the starlight I can’t swallow

without chewing, but my teeth

are pebbles in a shallow brook

and my open mouth the entrance

to a cut-rate version of Hell.

You stir a little and sigh

in memory of all memories.

I want to wake you but

we’ve drifted a thousand miles

apart. Our mutual radiance

dispersed without illuminating

the places we used to love when

love was an option always

available without tears.