Villanelle

The night brings the better illusion.
Though I could will a seventies soul here and
dance with someone, there is no word for losing

them in another language, under the neon infused
vault of azalea skies, when the music ends
the night brings the better illusion.

I wish someone had told me sooner
you don’t have to gain a country to stand
alone. There is no word for losing

yourself in the moves of wonder
and regret while surrounded
by rows of drunk students. The better illusion

is the moon stretching her diaphanous
limbs with nothing to offer, but a
dance with them there. Is no word for losing

going to let light’s grip loose?
The night brings the better illusion.
Dance with them. There is no word for losing.