Half Life

I try

but never tire

of dusk’s tweeny light

   jittery

winter branches

scratching at the doorjamb of night

   watch how

      it waits

to blend forth

& disappear

try looking

   away &

get lost in those fierce

inhospitable gradients

striking, their wildness

            (ambiguous

                        (suspicious

& my tears

   so patchy

      unidirectional

dumb like a fad

but wait a few

seconds &

flat deadening

   darkness

shades drawn

against that creep

   across the way

hiding in the microspace

between blue

& midnight blue

Bill Marsh is a college teacher and part-time beekeeper based in Chicago. His essays and poetry have appeared (or soon will) in After Hours, Belt Magazine, Bluestem Magazine, Copper Nickel, Mud Season Review, and Writing on the Edge. He tweets responsibly @prof_bmarsh.