There is a pain – so utter –
It swallows substance up –
Emily Dickinson, poem 599
It swallows substance up –
Emily Dickinson, poem 599
The windows open
to the guardianship of the sun.
to the guardianship of the sun.
But there is distant smoke
in its presence, traces of an aftermath,
in its presence, traces of an aftermath,
a landslide of fumes vacating
the shredded heart,
the shredded heart,
a porous sea, a sliding window
that gifts much more than a casual stare.
that gifts much more than a casual stare.
It accumulates truth
in a coffer of reasons.
in a coffer of reasons.
The smoke is just a shortcut,
an empire of anxiety.
an empire of anxiety.
Windows resist
but they’re so lazy, they never close.
but they’re so lazy, they never close.
