In the beginning there was only the moonlight
and the rain
and the mud that was left once the rain had stopped
and the footprints left in the mud
made by my boots from when
outside in the rain I had stood
beside the gate through the whole storm
watching out into the nothing that was on the other side of the fence
and once the rain had passed and I had trudged indoors
dredging the mud across my floors and it was
only the moonlight and an inch of rainwater
collecting in my footprints in the yard and also
upon the thin bodies of the night blooming flowers
from out in the distance
the animals began
talking with the world
and I lay in my bed by the open window listening
to that world being born out there
and I watched the swans drop
from the dark air
to fold the lights of the night sky
into the down of their once soaring backs
and that’s when you came home to find me upstairs
asleep
having tried so hard to stay awake but failing
and you woke me with what I know not
the harshest softness
or the most careful of violence
and your face was the first thing that I saw
in the familiar light of this new place
From Pockets of Small Gods (Write Bloody Publishing, 2018) by Anis Mojgani. Copyright © 2018 by Anis Morjgani. Used with the permission of the author.