Crucible Poem by Midnight Clarity

Night pulses heat
skin gleams, and trickles
light trapped in a tear
perhaps in sweat;
a pearl beside the corner
of an eye, half-closed
against the salt,
harsh crystals
on soft skin, on lashes
tangled by the storm
just past, all damp with rain
with tears, with sweat
with being where they are.
Reality has faded
smoky remnants of a memory
drift over parted lips
that maybe shape the name
of love gone by
or conjure up tomorrow's dream
too early.
Dreams die in heat,
lie tattered behind eyelids
too heavy to be lifted
to let them breathe and flower
into castles in the air,
in spain or anywhere light
splinters into rainbows
through unspilled tears
that wash an eye, half-closed
against the unseen future.