some flowers only bloom at night.

there are certain values
of life
that stemmed from the same root,
certain details of us that
branched into different
routes--
they walk blindly on rain-slicked streets
while time is fleeting by in
a whirlwind thunderstorm,
and memories are slipping away like
water in their hands.

it's everything she believes in that
is going to be proven wrong,
and when that clock strikes, she'll be
already
gone.
there's a gravity-defying fear in the back of
her mind, bubbling and frothing
to the surface of her--

it's late when
these miracles glow with the stars,
so what is there left
to trust (in)?