Black Waters Poem by Eila Mahima Jaipaul

Moonrise, and no one wakened to notice how
savage or hard these trances can sound from here,
where light picks out the deeper patches
of darkness as if it were knowledge.

I call out to you from an adjacent room.
I hear my rasp that carries through your wall.
Saying, 'I'm cold.'
'Wait. Don't let me go.'

We were built by rivers and
night water
running past our windows
comforting the sorrow cast across out lives.

Now it sounds like sad songs in the evening,
not made by god, but by water rushing around lifeless glass.