The Watchers of the night

The night is still—
and the winds
, wander in vain,
come and go in vain.
I woke at midmorning,
trembling,
searching my bare chest
for him who once dwelled
between my ribs.
In vain-;-
only emptiness remains.
I strain to hear a pulse
in voidness—
but there is none.
Like a dream,
I summon the moment again-;-
like a dream,
I call the faces back—
all the faces.
The faces of the watchers of the night—
they came through the city’s darkness,
split it in my ---sleep---,
and carried him away,
while the people slept.
I rose in panic from my pillow,
threw a cloak across my shoulders,
ran—
like one possessed—
through the crowd.
I wandered the city’s markets,
seeking to buy a heart.
My eyes combed the shops
piled high with weary faces,
lined upon the shelves—
but hearts,
none to be found.
They said:
“That trade has gone stale.”
And when my circling wearied me,
my search ran dry,
my road grew narrow—
I turned home again,
to the emptiness in my chest.
All of the city—
watchers of the night!.

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