Canvas curtains with

Buttons of rice.

 

Small enclosures

Hold melting floors while

 

Starched souls stand in the corner and

Their judgments fly.

 

Half held truths

Debase the morning sky and

 

Silence screams in my eyes while

Cut grass fragrance pervades my thoughts.

 

When will it all come together?

When will it stop?

 

The quiet death

Underwrites my soul while

 

Soft subtle shapes

Shift and take me with them.

 

And when the shapes settle, the past becomes the one and only

Place where I can breathe.

 

But I can’t go back there and all else has failed.

Why did you come back? just to leave again?

 

Why?  Did you forget to take something? I can’t imagine what

There is nothing left.…

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