Window

There is a window, where a shimmer means

cold, 

where a rattle causes pates to ache, to hollow, to crack. 

And

there is a doorway, that splits shins and withers bodies

ripe, dark;

to collect pieces 

that spilt out when no one was looking, when no one had eyes, as a meadow,

hasn’t a breeze, to bend it

to life. 

I haven’t touched

the waters, only waded into

the sea; and dreamed, and opened, and followed the visions 

down. 

Deep. 

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s