Kissena Twilight Series

The light that hangs, suspended over the treeline, then pools above the grass, then sinks reluctant into the black-blue track.

Liquid light: so that you forget to drink.

“When you’re thirsty, it’s too late.”

The sun, when it finally sets, is a small hard billiard ball that scatters the racers.

In the parking lot, everywhere you turn, there’s a costume change happening, so that finally you just throw your head back, and look at the sky.

And your heart goes, whoosh. And your heart goes, glug.

–

The new bridge, and the old one, run parallel, unblinking. Both named Kosciuszko: the kinda name that will chip a tooth.

The roof is open so, you could reach out and touch the bicycles, but don’t: it’s enough that you could.

Enough that their shadows on the road alongside the car, make you think of orca.

The front wheels are off, the forks are resting on the rack, it makes you think, of spent colts, kneeling.

Makes you think, of all the horse books you read as a kid: how you knew that you had to wipe down a horse after exercising him, you could not leave him standing there, sweaty.

The horse, so many hands tall. With a white star on his forehead. Locks in his eyes.

“For some people, this is enough.”