01 March 2008


Waking, she thought
she was dead
in damp cloth.
She lay
eyes shut, straining
to see
through her own skin.

The light inside
my tomb is red
she thinks. I am not
breathing; I am
not hearing; I am not needing
breath or sound—
I am light in my bones
waiting to be sifted
of some layer of earth
with all else that was
heavy above
but weightless

The early sun bores
into her eyelids
her brain
awakens to twisted
damp linen
and she wonders
how she got here.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

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Best regards
Darek Wish