Give Me Someday

Born beneath storms that smell like the present,
I miss the illusion of infinity.

I feel it now—
from the song of passing cars
and the snuff of their taillights,
flames expounded by distance, by time. 

I see it now—
in the city lights and their oath:
for destruction,
for a fire that will burn the hour,
that will leave those cars driving forever. 

I am trying to catch up with the rain,
running against this nocturnal current,
letting fantasy ring in my ears
like a one-time harp. 

I cling to nightfall
with the cold sweat of my palms.
I can’t watch the sky blacken and sour again,
for it to turn colourless and desperate. 

I don’t want to abandon this feeling  
that something is right,
that someday it will be,
that somewhere, something
is right
even if I am not. 

I tug at these promises,
for something, someday, somewhere,
like sleeves,
and the night grows a scent,
a texture, a figure, and if I close my eyes,
it bears a face
and becomes
someone.