Small Hours

a bored draft sneaks in:
sky is where the wind takes its breath.
unfolds in loud light.

during the small hours
it smells like slow dancing, and
goes, moving in parts.

like a camera,
the sky pushing wind around
across surfaces.

slips out like ribbons.
she said it has no neighbor
and no residence

nothing to expose
no body for wind to wear
no clothes to take off

no reason to think
it may come off with its clothes.
crowds nothing, really.

wind tries to tell us
we should get inside the night.
it thinks it will rain.

after day thins out
it goes checking on the sky.
get in there with me.

Rachelle Toarmino (b.1990) is a Buffalo-based writer, bookseller and teacher. Her writing has been featured by Metatron, Potluck Mag, Alien She Zine and PressBoardPress. She tweets @rchlltrmn.