Nocturne for Last Night’s Wanderer
It’s the witching hour
and my fingers are still smudged with
Palo Santo — gifted and burned
carelessly, over one more
blooming and naked body,
before the moon even completed its rise—
still the sound of wind’s moaning
sliding over my ceiling.
It’s not the sharpness of charred wood,
rather the notion of smoothing, of fading—
the unhinging at my hand of another past
pushing forward into future. It’s that I’m tired
of being named Bearer of New Beginning
and loosed conscience, my bed a pitstop
for restless lovers seeking — what?
Knowing? I’m tired of slowness
slipping clothes and confessions off
in the night, unbuckling one more secret
to drop on my pile of overflowing names.
Tell me you love me at noon on a Tuesday,
eyes meeting, bright, over bags of sunflower seeds,
leaving trails behind for tomorrow’s birds.
is a writer and artist based in Virginia. She engages with themes of love, loss, and the natural world. She is a recent graduate of the University of Virginia, receiving her B.A. both Poetry Writing and Global Sustainability. When she’s not creating art, she can be found spending time in nature, playing board games, and enjoying time with loved ones. She has been published in several literary journals including Simple Machines: Engines of Change, Sky Island Journal, Spires Intercollegiate Arts and Literary Magazine and Chomp Journal. More of her work can be found at www.skylarwampler.com and on instagram under the handle @skylar.wampler.