how did shadow walk into this light filled home?
did i forget to bolt the door? or leave a window ajar?
did he steal down my chimney while i slumbered in my bed?
while dreaming words of love and joy?

he sits at my table now, demanding another cup of grief from me.
how can i tell him he's emptied my cupboards? and what
will he do when i ask him to leave without quenching his thirst?

and why, oh why, do i want to offer him anything, anything at all,
if he would only stay?

"Write", she says.

"I have nothing to say", I answer.

But, of course, it is a lie.  I have plenty to say.
It is a matter of staying hidden.  

Sometimes, I want to be invisible.  

"Don't look at me", I say, "Just see me."

*I am the invisible substance of subconscious,
and I want nothing more than to be found.